Sophie recognized her at once.
Bethna.
The third Mistral Sister, who’d been missing from Camelot.
“You cannot freeze a Diamond account,” she contended. “It’s our gold—”
“It’s my bank to manage,” said Albemarle. “And it’s clear Camelot Beautiful is a fraudulent account. You and your sisters have been stealing Camelot funds and stashing them here for years. And now, voilà, the funds flow back to Camelot, just in time for the new king to spend it.”
“Irrelevant,” Bethna dismissed. “It’s Rhian’s money now.”
“It’s Camelot’s money,” Albemarle replied. “And per Arthur’s will, Camelot currently has no king to make use of that money. Not until the Tournament of Kings is won. So until Excalibur names the victor, this account is frozen.”
“Let’s see what your superior has to say,” Bethna challenged. “Someone who I’m sure doesn’t spend his free time playing janitor for students.”
“The bank chose a woodpecker family to manage its accounts for the same reason the school did: we are planners, by nature. Which means my only superior is my father like his father before him and neither is alive for you to appeal to. As for my time at school, I’m lucky that my wings have afforded me a part-time position there when I’m not taking appointments at the bank. And I was even luckier to serve under Clarissa Dovey, who your king saw fit to execute. Like me, Professor Dovey believed money meant little without a compass for spending it.” Albemarle stared Bethna down. “And like Clarissa did, I find students more worthwhile than the old and corrupt.”
Bethna stood up. “When King Rhian gets here, he will correct your error.”
“My spy tells me Rhian seeks access to Vault 41,” said the woodpecker, feathers puffing. “A vault that belongs to the Four Point kingdoms. Rhian may be planning to enter Vault 41, but I have plans to stop him. It doesn’t matter if those in Putsi and elsewhere slave to Rhian’s word. I am master of these safes. I decide who enters.” Albemarle stood tall against the steel vault. “Because only my touch can unlock them.”
The door to the office flew open.
“Good to know,” said a voice.
Gilded scims ripped across the desk, impaling Albemarle’s body.
Sophie’s butterfly lunged into the corner, barely eluding Japeth’s boot as the Snake swept into the bank manager’s office, followed by Kei.
The scims returned to Japeth’s blue-and-gold suit as he kneeled down and plucked a feather from the woodpecker’s corpse. Sickened, Sophie turned away, before she peeked back to see the Snake approach the steel door behind the desk and slide the feather into the lock.
The door creaked open.
“I hear Sophie’s been in this bank,” said Japeth.
He glanced at Kei and Bethna, then at Albemarle’s dead body.
“Make it look like she did this,” the Snake ordered.
He entered the vaults, the door closing behind him. Snapping to her wits, Sophie followed, whizzing through the shrinking gap in the steel, her wings shivering at the sudden draft. She glanced back at Kei overturning furniture, Bethna scrawling messages on the walls—“LONG LIVE TEDROS!” “THE WITCH IS BACK”—as Albemarle’s blood stained the floor . . .
That’s when Sophie caught Kei watching her through the last sliver of closing door, the captain tracking her butterfly with wide eyes, before the darkness sealed him off and locked her inside with the enemy.
AMBUSH IN THE dark.
That’s how she would do it, Sophie thought, shadowing the Snake.
She had the beast cornered.
It would be easy.
And yet, her wings were shaking.
She couldn’t remember ever being alone with the Snake. Someone had always been there between them: Agatha, Tedros, Hort . . . Rhian. But now, in the dark, she listened to his boots against stone, harsh and clipped, clack, clack, clack, the same rhythm he disposed of his enemies. Without pause. Without compunction.
Sophie had to punish him the same way. No hesitation. No mercy. The faster she did it, the sooner it would be over. The Woods spared. The story fixed.
Evil attacks. Good defends.
The first rule of fairy tales.
Not this time.
No one would see this attack as Evil.
It would be an act of Good.
A death well-earned.
But there were obstacles.
She was an insect, first off. A butterfly in a snake pit wouldn’t last long. Try reverting to human and he’d hear her instantly, his scims shredding through her the way they had the woodpecker. Plus, it was dark, pitch-dark, to the point Sophie couldn’t even see the walls or the floor or ceiling, as if she and her nemesis were floating in a starless sky. Add in the Snake’s scims and magical talents and the fact he’d murdered men bigger than her—Chaddick, Lancelot, the Sheriff, his own brother—and Sophie’s chances didn’t look good, no matter how skillfully she ambushed him. Even if she did manage to defeat him, she’d be trapped in this vault with no one to let her out but a bank full of enemies who’d been duped into thinking she just killed their manager.
So for now, Sophie trailed behind Japeth, keeping her distance in the seemingly endless chamber, tracing his frosty scent and the contours of his body.
Then he stopped cold.
Scims curled their heads off his suit like cobras.
“The Witch of Woods Beyond,” he cooed. “The Empress claimed she’d had you killed, but I sensed her hesitation. Knew full well that you wouldn’t die so easily. Not the Sophie I know. Not my queen. In fact, I debated going back to Camelot once you’d escaped. To find you. To punish you. But, in the end, I knew you’d come to me.”
His eyes scanned the darkness, like gems in a cave. Sophie’s butterfly drifted away from his gaze.
So much for an ambush, Sophie thought.
“Your school magic won’t protect you for long, you know.” His suit of scims turned black, vanishing him into the dark. “Girls have a stink that can’t scrub off. Aric had a good way of describing it. Like a rose gone to rot. I can smell it anywhere. But you . . . I’m afraid you reek of it worst of all.”
Sophie’s wings grazed a wall: the slightest brush against stone—
Eels shot off Japeth’s suit, spearing in her direction. Sophie plunged to the ground, barely dodging them. The scims probed the bricks around her, slimy heads inches above her wings. The Snake’s glowing eyes roved down, about to find her . . .
Sophie skidded forward on her tiny thorax. More eels shot off Japeth, following her sound. Sophie dove between scims, the rush of their flight blowing her into a soot-filled corner. She raised her antennae: everywhere she looked, scims hung in the air, inky black ribbons, hunting the darkness for her. Silently, she submerged in soot, blackening her wings, soaking in stale, thick-smelling dust.
Japeth didn’t move.
She could hear him sniffing the air.
He waited a moment longer, as if doubting himself.
Why doesn’t he light his glow? He’d see me in a second, Sophie thought. Rhian had a fingerglow . . . which means Japeth should have one too . . .
Unless Japeth doesn’t have one, she realized.
But why would his brother have a student’s glow and not him?