Then she saw the house with the hole in the roof.
Atop the two-level, pale yellow home, the blue tiles had been blown open, guards stationed around this crater, armed with crossbows, pointed at Tedros as he approached. Down on the ground, a thick ring of guards walled off the house, the strongest soldiers Good and Evil, an elite force protecting the third test. Agatha could hardly see Tedros anymore, the guards closing in on him from all sides before the prince stopped in front of the house.
Japeth halted his horse.
Tedros waited for him, as if they were friends.
Watching them were two boys in school uniforms, standing on the porch in front of an open door. Both wore Lion pins, one older, about eighteen, who looked a bit like Chaddick, the other boy ash blond, no more than eight or nine years of age. In the doorway waited a woman in rose-pink robes, who had Grisella Gremlaine’s tan skin and sharp-drawn face. It was here that Lady Gremlaine must have left her son to be raised by his aunt, where Arthur would never learn of his existence. Why Grisella hid Arthur’s true heir from him they’d never know for sure. But Agatha suspected it was so the story of Arthur and Grisella would end on that fateful night they’d spent together in Sherwood Forest. For Grisella, that was their Ever After. Their secret to keep forever. Anything born of that secret had to be hidden, not just to protect Arthur and Camelot, but to give the child a fresh start, a new life, away from the tangled web of its parents.
Japeth dismounted. He left his sword behind and joined Tedros on the patch of grass in front of the house.
The prince nodded, ceding way to his rival.
Silently, the hierarchy played out.
Japeth made his way to the porch, the two Gremlaine boys bowing to him. At the door, Japeth didn’t enter, but instead signaled to the crowd, drawing forth the leaders of the Kingdom Council—King Dutra of Foxwood, Empress Vaisilla of Putsi, the Maharani of Mahadeva, the Wolf King of Bloodbrook, and dozens more—who would all bear witness to the test, each gliding into the house one by one until the parade of royals was done.
Japeth waited by the door and nodded at Tedros.
Tedros moved to join him, the Gremlaine boys giving him cold glowers, which the prince solemnly endured. From the porch, Tedros glanced back at the chain of prisoners, signaling to the guards at their flanks that he wanted them as his witnesses. The soldiers all looked to Japeth, who made no objection. Guards sheathed their weapons and stood down.
At the front of the line, Vex and Ravan pulled the chain forward, drawing Tedros’ friends into the house, past the prince and Japeth, who watched them enter: fourth years, first years, followed by Merlin, then the witches towing Agatha and Sophie last. As Agatha jerked onto the porch, she stared urgently at Tedros, but he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes on his own cloak-covered chest, where Agatha had wrapped her hands only a short while ago. Was this the last time they’d be close to each other? Why couldn’t he look at her? Was he afraid? Was he regretting his deal? Overwhelmed with feelings, Agatha spun to the Snake, cutting him with a glare of fire and pain, but it was too late, the chain already dragging her inside—
That’s when Agatha saw Japeth’s collar.
Fluttering in the breeze, just long enough for her to catch what was pinned underneath . . .
A tiny piece of gray fabric that matched the color of Chaddick’s eyes.
A golden C stitched into the gray.
All of it, dried through with blood.
HE’S CHEATING! AGATHA wanted to scream.
He has Chaddick’s blood!
She needed to warn Tedros, but she couldn’t see him any longer, her body hauled into the crowded house. She couldn’t cry out to him either, the rope pulled too tight in her mouth. Down the chain, Merlin was peering strangely at her, but now the chain dragged them forward, her feet staggering over broken blue tiles, Agatha wrenched between gathered leaders, the Ice Giant of Frostplains, the Fairy Queen of Gillikin, the Dwarf Queen of Ooty, who all recoiled at her touch, until she was tugged up a staircase to the second floor, giving her a view over the banister of the Gremlaine home.
Japeth’s allies occupied the first floor, packed around Excalibur, its blade stabbed into a pile of shattered stone that had crashed in from above. Noontime sun spotlit Arthur’s sword through the hole in the roof, casting gold sparkles in the sapphire-colored stone, matching the hues of Japeth’s suit. The two rivals came through the door, Japeth and Tedros hewed close as they took their places in front of the sword. Trapped against the upstairs banister, Agatha saw Sophie flash her a look, no doubt recognizing the irony of crowding her candy chateau with friends to keep Tedros away from the Snake, only to end up in a house of enemies, the two boys hip to hip. With Tedros directly below her, Agatha couldn’t see more than the top of his curls, eye contact between them impossible. How could she tell him what she’d spotted on Japeth’s collar? That Japeth was tricking Excalibur the same way Rhian had, which is why the sword rejected Tedros the first time? How could she tell Tedros that Excalibur was about to spurn him again? And this time, it would kill him?
She tried to choke out sounds, but there was no way to hear her from up here, the house too jammed with shifting bodies, her prince’s eyes fixed on his father’s blade. Slowly, a wave of quiet rolled across the house, the stakes growing clear. That this was the final test of the Tournament of Kings. That in a matter of moments, the sword would surely be pulled by one of these two boys and the other would die. Agatha could see her friends chained down the staircase, all of them with the same pale, petrified faces, especially the first years who still believed in a world where Good always wins, where the true heir to Camelot must be king. The silence grew and Agatha seized her chance, drawing a breath and forcing a cry through her rope, a cry Tedros had to know was hers—
He didn’t look at her.
Tedros cleared his throat. “We have our witnesses, Rhian. We have our test. We have only our last words that the people will remember us by, whether we rise to the throne or go to our grave.”
“Then speak first, young prince,” Japeth simpered. “The last time you gave a king’s speech, it was something to behold.”
Agatha saw Tedros flinch. She remembered the moment well. The speech King Tedros had to give to rally his armies against the Snake and faltered so badly, his words so uncertain and timorous that another boy stepped in to do the job. In that instant, Tedros had opened the door for his throne to be stolen. And here he was, against a boy who wore the same face as the one who’d humiliated him. Past is Present and Present is Past. The story goes round and round again . . .
Unless you learn from that past, thought Agatha, watching her prince turn towards the crowd. Because the story might be the same, but this Tedros was different. His eyes were clear, his stance proud. When he spoke, his voice was dark and commanding, his breath low and deep, as if he was holding back a roar.
“Kings are born, not made. That is the law of our land. That is what we are taught,” he said. “Even the mightiest and worthiest cannot ascend to the throne without the blood of his predecessor. Blood is the magic of how kings are made. Only blood. It is why my rival and I stand before this sword. Each of us claims the blood of my father. My father, who created this tournament to find his heir.” Tedros paused. “And yet, why make three tests? Why not return the sword to the stone and ask one of us to pull it out, just as he did to prove himself a king? Why declare a tournament to make us quest for answers and risk life and limb across the sea and back, only to then end here, with the same task my father passed, by the magic of his blood? Maybe because he learned that blood wasn’t enough to make him a king. What made him a king were the tests of leadership he faced over and over. Tests that made him a king in more than blood. Tests of humility. Forgiveness. Sacrifice. Love. The real tests. Ones I failed my first time as king. Because I, too, believed in the magic of blood. That it made me king, even if I didn’t feel like a king or know how to act like one. I ruled with fear in my heart. Fear that I wasn’t worthy of my blood. Fear that I wasn’t good enough. I shrank from challenges, worried for myself instead of my people, desperate to protect a throne I didn’t think I deserved. Guilt. Shame. Doubt. These were my guides. It is no wonder a usurper came to rob that throne. I conjured a Snake into existence. Yet it was this Snake who gave me a second chance to pass the tests I’d failed. That’s why my father left three tests. To let me prove the humility, love, and courage I once lacked. But there is more at stake here than a crown. One of us fights to protect the Storian. The other seeks to destroy it and replace it with himself. Man versus Pen. Yet, without the Pen, we are lost. For it is the Storian who truly knows our fate and gives each of us the chance to fulfill it. It is why Man cannot rule these Woods alone. It is why the One True King must never replace the Storian. Because Man doesn’t have the courage to face his own worst fears, to rise to his greatest self, not without the help of fate. Fate and free will must work together. Man and Pen in perfect balance. We are all objects of our fate, but our will decides whether we overcome the challenges fate brings us. The Storian only begins our tale. We must end it. And my end is to grow beyond my failings and become more than my blood. It is why I stand here today, made stronger by my mistakes. Because the Pen always gives the best of men second chances. And the best of kings.”