The School for Good and Evil #6: One True King

by Soman Chainani

  “I probably don’t,” Reena’s mother teased. “Listen to me, sweet girl. So many of us make the mistake of denying ourselves what we want. Out of fear that we don’t deserve it. And it’s a good thing too. Try to have everything you want and you’ll end up like my husband! But the things that matter, those cannot be compensated for or bargained away. They are our birthright in this world. We must find them and hold on to them, even if it takes us deep into the desert, far, far from where we thought we should be . . .” She hugged Sophie so close that Sophie could smell the spices flecked on her skin. “Give yourself permission to be happy. That is the magic spell. Then everything will be possible.”

  “I’m not sure how to do that,” Sophie whispered, but she was alone again, Reena’s mother back to the kitchen.

  Sophie wiped her eyes, her hands unsteady.

  “You okay?” a gravelly voice asked behind her.

  Sophie turned to see Hort holding two plates of rose-colored cookies, the weasel looking especially shifty.

  “I asked them if they had anything without sugar or milk or all the other things you don’t eat and they said no, but these were pretty, so . . . ,” Hort mumbled.

  “Shouldn’t you be sharing those with your girlfriend?” Sophie asked.

  “We broke up,” Hort said.

  Sophie’s eyes widened. She looked over at Nicola, talking animatedly with Agatha. “Does your girlfriend know that?”

  “Ex-girlfriend. And yes. It was her idea.” Hort took a deep breath. “She thinks I’m immature and lost in my own fantasies and a sad, soft boy.”

  “All true, I suppose . . . ,” Sophie considered.

  “Thanks,” said Hort, wounded. He walked away.

  Sophie wanted to finish her sentence: “That’s why I like you.” But she neither called him back nor moved from her spot, her cucumbers soggy on her plate.

  “Nic looks less upset about their breakup than you do,” Agatha said, accosting her, clutching another hunk of golden-brown honeycake, “presuming, of course, that’s what you two were talking about. She’s fine about it, actually. I think she finally realized that Hort from the storybooks is different from the Hort in real li—”

  “Can I have some of that?” Sophie asked.

  She was pointing at the cake.

  Agatha gaped at her like she had two heads. “Um, take it all.”

  Sophie didn’t think, the cake already pried out of her best friend’s hands and stuffed into her mouth. She closed her eyes, the fluffy weight of flour collapsing on her tongue into a cool melt of honey, a burst of cinnamon at the center. With each chew, the alchemy repeated, as she let the sensations dance on her tongue, then down her throat, surrendering herself to the riot of flavors, as if for once in her life she wasn’t in a rush to make pleasure mean something. She’d always thought of cake as fleeting, pointless, but here in the span of one taste, she’d understood why it mattered. Because life was fleeting and pointless unless you let yourself enjoy it, savor it, down to its lightest, most insignificant moments. She could feel tears falling, as if she’d opened up the forbidden gate . . . as if she’d lost and found something at the same time . . .

  “I’ll have what she’s having,” Dot said to Yousuf nearby, pointing at Sophie.

  Sophie looked at Agatha. They both cracked up.

  Then Agatha stopped laughing.

  “What is it?” Sophie asked—

  Crickets, she realized.

  The music had stopped.

  Both girls turned to the Queen of Jaunt Jolie, who’d noticed it too, she and Maid Marian standing very still at the center of the room. Everyone seemed to tune in, the pub going silent.

  Then Sophie heard it.

  Rattling and thundering, like a faraway quake.

  Agatha was already dragging her outside, into the thick desert air, the others close behind—

  Together, the two girls looked up into the night and glimpsed the swell of flames sweeping down the dunes like a storm. A thousand Shazabah camels, riders wielding torches and blades, side by side with soldiers astride gold-saddled horses.

  Camelot horses.

  Tedros stepped between the girls, his eyes locked on the king in blue and gold, charging at the fore of both armies.

  “Time to go,” said the prince.

  19

  TEDROS

  Secret Weapon

  “You are a very strange compass,” Tedros murmured, who was used to a brass arrow that oriented you towards a goal. But instead, the Sultan’s compass featured a tiny phantom of a belly dancer, shimmying her hips to the left.

  “Go that way,” the belly dancer advised.

  Tedros jogged west in the dark, the glowing numbers near the belly dancer’s waist counting down the distance to the caves: 1,000 feet . . . 900 feet . . . The prince glanced back at the rest of his team, hustling to keep up. Over their heads, he could see the flames of Japeth’s army high on the dunes, miles away, but gaining ground. The Sultan had told Japeth everything, no doubt, thinking he was Rhian. Given him soldiers too.

  Ten minutes, Tedros guessed.

  That’s how much time they had.

  At the most.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” Agatha asked, rushing to his side.

  “The implication being that I don’t?” said Tedros. “Uma and Kaveen didn’t trust each other. Look how they turned out.”

  Agatha prickled. “You won’t tell me the plan.”

  “For a reason,” said Tedros. “I know what’s at stake. Not just a test. Your life.”

  “And what about the thousand men chasing us?” Agatha hounded.

  “Choo-choo! Choo-choo!” said a voice.

  Agatha looked down at Merlin, mop-haired and up to her ribs now, scampering beside her. The young wizard smiled.

  “Big job for Tee Tee,” he piped.

  Agatha peered at him.

  “Like I said. We have a plan,” Tedros clipped, sprinting ahead. “Follow the others!”

  Despite the Snake bearing down, he felt unshackled and free. Finally he’d taken control, having learned from the first test. This time, he’d handle the Snake himself, keeping Agatha in the dark. Not to punish her, but to protect her. If she knew what he and the Knights were planning, she’d jump into the fray. And with the Snake hunting her, that was the last place she should be.

  And yet, he still had misgivings about the Knights’ plan. Japeth relinquish the throne by choice? The Snake surrender . . . for love? Only women could invest in such a plot. But he didn’t have a better one and the more he thought about it, the more his heart pulsed with hope. If he played his cards perfectly, then maybe . . . just maybe . . .

  He picked up speed, looking back to see his princess fall farther behind, while the Snake and his army vanished into the valley of a dune. The idea of leaving Agatha outside the cave when Japeth attacked made Tedros sick. The Snake would go right for her to win the second test. Would Merlin stick to the plan . . . ? Tedros’ gut knotted tighter. He’d entrusted a six-year-old with Agatha’s life. A six-year-old who still peed his pants and had to be bribed with chocolate cake. No going back now, the prince thought, burying his doubts. He ran harder, tracking the compass girl’s hips . . . 200 feet . . . 100 feet . . . 50 feet . . .

  A storm of sand erupted in front of him, a towering wall rising so high, it obscured the moon. Wind whittled this wall like a sculptor, Tedros covering his eyes, his lips and tongue coated in hot dust, before he squinted through his fingers and glimpsed the cave’s shape: a colossal magic lamp made out of sand, the tip of the lamp the opening to the cave, its portal of gold glow piercing the night.

  Behind Tedros, the others arrived and flanked him like a shield: Agatha, Sophie, Uma, Hort, and the Knights of Eleven.

  It was one thing to hear Kaveen tell a story. But to see the cave now, a real place, with the magic lamp sealed inside, the lamp that made Aladdin a legend . . . This is what Readers must feel like, Tedros thought. The prince’s palms started to sweat, h
is mouth dry.

  “H-hi,” he said, inching towards the cave, “I’m Prince Tedros of—”

  A voice thundered from deep within: “Many a man has disturbed me, seeking my Cave of Wishes. But none with so feeble an army.”

  Tedros could hear the rumble of Japeth’s horses. There was little time for negotiation. “I come for the lamp,” he declared.

  “All fools do,” the cave taunted, low and resounding. “But to enter the cave, you must bring me something in return. And as far as I can tell, you don’t even have a sword, feckless prince. So go. Before I feel offended enough to deal with you.”

  The sand under Tedros’ boots thickened, as if to swallow him whole. By the time he looked up, the cave was collapsing back into the desert—

  “I don’t come empty-handed,” said Tedros. “I bring your true love.”

  The cave instantly re-formed.

  “Show me,” it commanded.

  Princess Uma stepped forward, taking her place next to the prince.

  The cave seemed to shudder at the sight of her, the light of its portal burning red-hot, like a stoked fire.

  Tedros could see Agatha grinding her teeth, as if she’d already decided this was the worst plan ever.

  “Give her to me,” the cave ordered. “Then you may enter.”

  “You’ll get her once I enter and exit your cave safely,” Tedros countered. “Otherwise, I have no assurance you’ll let me leave alive.”

  “And what of my assurances? You may use the lamp to wish my true love out of this deal. Or she may flee while you are inside.”

  “Neither of those will happen,” Tedros vowed. “I will deliver her as promised.”

  “Your promises mean nothing to me,” said the cave. “What happens if you take what you now say is mine? What happens if you cheat?”

  “Then you can have me,” spoke a voice.

  Guinevere stepped forward.

  “His own mother,” she said.

  Tedros showed little reaction, as if this too was part of the plan.

  “I’ll enter the cave with him,” the old queen explained. “If he fails to deliver the princess, then you may keep me as punishment.”

  The cave’s light shone upon Guinevere, as if verifying she was who she said.

  “What do I want with you, old bones,” the cave mocked. “Better fed to vultures.”

  “Which is why you can trust me to deliver your true love,” said Tedros. “No boy would sacrifice his mother to certain death. The terms favor you.”

  The cave paused, considering this.

  Smoke fogged the sky, the smell of torch flames rising. The cave beamed its light into the distance, on the twin armies riding towards them.

  “I suggest you make your decision quickly,” said Tedros, with an eye towards Uma. “Given impending company, your true love may not last long enough to see the end of our bargain.”

  The cave’s sands hardened.

  “Enter,” he snarled.

  Tedros clasped his mother’s hand, pulling her into the Cave of Wishes. The moment he stepped into the portal’s light, he felt the drop in temperature, the air cool and sharp. From inside the cave, he glanced back one last time, at Agatha, his princess looking helpless and scared, the same way Tedros looked whenever she went chasing after his quests without him.

  Sand poured over the door like a tomb being sealed.

  Then he and his mother were alone.

  FIVE MINUTES, TEDROS thought.

  Any more than that and Agatha and the rest would be at risk.

  Guinevere stumbled, gripping on to Tedros’ arm. “Careful,” she breathed, “there’s a step.”

  Tedros lit his fingerglow. “Lots of steps.”

  A crooked staircase made out of sand spiraled down into darkness, beyond what the prince could see. He slid his boot onto the first step, sand crumbling. With each step, the footing seemed more uneven, like a rocky shoreline. Guinevere tripped again.

  “You okay?” Tedros said.

  “Go ahead,” she said, limping. “I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

  Tedros put his arm around her and guided her, step by step.

  It was strange to be here with her. When they’d made the plan at the pub, she’d seemed the right choice to brave the cave with him. If he’d taken Agatha, she would have questioned his every move. Sophie would have been worse. And everyone else, he didn’t feel comfortable with, not the way he did with his mother, which was ironic, given he’d spent the last ten years thinking her a disloyal witch. And yet, now that he was alone with her, there was an odd tension between them. Not anger or resentment. That was gone from his heart, his mother’s sins forgiven. It was something else. Vacancy. Emptiness. As if they were two strangers, any bond between them imagined.

  Then, in the cast of his glow, Tedros glimpsed something embedded in one of the steps: a gold coin. As he swept his glow downwards, he saw why the stairs were so uneven, each of them laden with treasures: polished jewels, glinting rings, at least four crowns, and more gold than Tedros had ever seen, coins and talismans and goblets, scattered and fossilized deep into the sand. For a second, Tedros was baffled . . .

  Then he saw the skulls.

  Scores of them, hanging off the staircase by ropes of tightly packed sand, some attached to their skeletons, others severed at the neck or shoulders or ribs, like a gallery of warning. These must be the seekers who’d come to this cave and hadn’t made it back out, leaving the treasures from their wishes behind.

  “They made mistakes,” said Guinevere nervously.

  How? Tedros wondered. It was the Cave of Wishes. You ask your three wishes and hurry away with your plunder.

  Then again, when it came to magic, there was always a catch.

  They went faster now, Tedros moving his glow off the remains of wishers past and keeping the light on the bounties of each step, one by one, until they reached the bottom, a small cellar of sand. Given the corpses along the way and the famed power of the lamp, Tedros was expecting obstacles to finding it or at least some kind of test . . . but instead, there it was, lying on its side on the floor of the cave, copper in color, tarnished and scratched up, like an old trinket in an attic. There was nothing else down here except a dirty, broken mirror, leaning against a wall.

  Tedros studied the lamp, its tip poking out of the sand, like an elephant’s trunk. “Doesn’t look like much, does it?”

  A thunder of hooves echoed outside.

  “Hurry, Tedros,” said his mother, watching the cave walls quake.

  Tedros grabbed the lamp, rubbing sand off its surface with his palm.

  Nothing happened.

  Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Rub the lamp? Tedros rubbed it harder, against his elbow, his chest, then with both hands at the same time—

  The lamp glowed fire red, scalding his fingers; Tedros yelped and dropped it to the sand. In the lamp’s reflection, he spotted a pair of yellow eyes glaring right at him. Red smoke lashed out of the lamp, building high over Tedros’ and his mother’s heads, a thick mist, murky and ragged at the edges, a man’s torso with a tiger’s head and the golden eyes Tedros had seen in the reflection, now fixed on him and Guinevere. In fairy tales, genies were friendly, comforting creatures, solid in body, but soft in spirit. But this genie was hazy in body, harsh in spirit, and very clearly not his friend.

  “Three wishes,” said the genie, the same stark voice they’d heard outside. “But to exit the cave, you’ll need the secret word. A word I cannot speak myself without being condemned to eternal pain. So you may not use one of your wishes to procure it. And if you die in this cave by your own incompetence . . .” He glanced at the skulls of all the men who had. “. . . then the princess you’ve brought as my gift is still mine.”

  The catch, Tedros thought. He knew it seemed too easy.

  Guinevere frowned. “But how do we—”

  “One question. That’s all you get, plus your three wishes,” the genie cut off. “Use your question wisely. A
ny further questions will be taken out of your wishes.”

  Guinevere bit her tongue.

  “Tell me what you were going to ask,” Tedros whispered, careful not to phrase it as a question.

  “How to find the secret word,” said his mother.

  “That’s your question, then,” the genie prompted.

  “No. Everyone must ask how to find the secret word,” said Tedros. “And yet, there’s a hundred dead bodies hanging in this cave? It’s a trap. We need to ask something else.”

  “Cleverer than you look,” the genie remarked, tiger eyes gleaming. “If you had asked, I would have told you ‘it’s a secret’ and you’d be no better off than before. Now ask your question. I care little about what becomes of you. Only your friends outside. One friend, rather, soon to be mine.”

  For a split second, Tedros wanted to ask the genie what was happening to Agatha . . . then stopped himself. The last thing Agatha would want was for him to waste his question on her. He needed to focus on why they were here: the plan to beat Japeth and keep his princess alive. He glanced at his mother, hoping she was working out the secret word—

  Guinevere wrung her hands. “What would Lance do?” she whispered to herself.

  Tedros almost laughed. He’d forgotten who his mother was. She’d dumped his gallant father for the chauvinist brute that was Sir Lancelot. Lance, who swept her off her feet and let her live a highland fantasy, devoid of real responsibility. Now his mother was still lost in the fantasy, waiting for her knight to save her.

  It’s why Tedros had chosen the girl he did. He didn’t want one like his mother. He wanted an equal.

  That free feeling he’d had on the dunes evaporated. Suddenly he missed his princess.

  What would Agatha do?

  Tedros stifled a smile. Maybe he was more like his mother than he thought.

  And yet, Agatha wouldn’t be distracted like he was. She’d be thinking about those who escaped the cave . . . the ones like Aladdin, who’d made their three wishes and gotten out alive . . .