“Drinkie,” he peeped.
Sophie pulled out the bottle of green goo that Hester had given her and squeezed a few steamy drops onto Merlin’s tongue, the child eager for it, despite the potion’s hellish smell and the face he made upon swallowing. Sophie tried to shake off what she’d seen in the Celestium, while Merlin sang nonsense and toyed with her veil. Every time she looked at him, he seemed to have grown, his diaper no longer soiled every hour. Instead, he’d tug on Sophie with a spooked look, his new way of indicating he needed to relieve himself. Time slowed to a crawl, the wizard’s growth outpacing the night, until at last the black sky started to blue. The camel peered up at Uma, expecting her to scout the path and signal a spot to hide until morning. But the stymph stalled, Uma hesitating . . .
There were campfires ahead, circled by shadows.
“Aggie, look,” Sophie nudged.
Agatha snored awake. Her eyes widened. “Pirates,” she breathed, taking in the fleet of Camelot guards, led by Wesley, his sunburnt face visible through his helmet.
But not just pirates, Sophie realized.
Wolves.
Dozens of them, man-wolves and werewolves alike, mixed with Japeth’s army, the wolves’ hulking torsos and feral faces flamelit as the teams shared roasted rabbit and squirrel.
Sophie looked to Uma for guidance, but treetops and rising smoke had obscured the stymph. Sophie tugged on the camel’s reins, reversing course, but more wolves were coming that way, towing a dead boar. The camel hustled forward, sneaking a narrow path around the camp. Sophie tightened her veil and Agatha grabbed Merlin’s blue hat to fashion her own mask, both girls keeping their heads low.
“Bloodbrook ain’t no friend to Camelot,” Wesley said to the largest man-wolf, as the returning wolves heaped the boar on the fire. “King musta promised yers a pretty penny to help us catch Agatha.”
“Storian hasn’t written the tale of a Bloodbrook Never in a hundred years. Closest we came was that pathetic Hort, who played the fool in Agatha’s tale,” said the wolf leader. “No legends or heroes to believe in anymore. Reason we’ve become a slum instead of the kingdom we once were. If Rhian gets the Pen’s powers, he promised to restore Bloodbrook to glory.”
“With yer noses helpin’ us, king’ll win the second test in no time,” said Wesley. “Track that wench down like a dog.” He smiled at the wolf leader. “No offense.”
And yet, with the smoke and meat, none of them caught scent of Agatha, who was slipping right past them, almost out of the thicket. Sophie tried to quiet Merlin, who was squirming for Agatha as the camel skirted the enemy camp, about to break into open Woods. But Merlin thrashed harder in Sophie’s arms, angling for Agatha—
His hat, Sophie realized.
He wanted it back.
Merlin started to swell red.
No, no, no, Sophie prayed.
The wizard went redder, redder, redder.
She covered his mouth—
Merlin exploded.
A loud, piercing wail that startled even the camel.
Agatha and Sophie froze. Merlin, too.
Wolves and guards raised their eyes.
The Woods went still.
Instantly, the camel fled, but wolves surrounded it. The camel spat a blast of fire, torching one, but the rest of the wolves tackled it to the ground, hoisting Sophie and Agatha off, separating them from Merlin, before they cut the camel’s reins and stuffed them in its mouth.
As wolves gripped the two veiled girls and a guard gagged Merlin, Wesley approached, sword in hand.
“Heidy-ho, fair lasses. May I ask where yer going inna middle of a night wit a Shazaboo camel?”
Sophie looked at Agatha. Agatha looked at Sophie. Each knew who was the better liar.
“To the island of Markle Markle. Hafsa and I are to dance for the king,” Sophie touted, nodding at hat-masked Agatha. The white scarf around Sophie’s nose and mouth magically tightened, leaving only her green eyes visible. “We’ve been sent by the sultan. A diplomatic mission.”
“Markle Markle, eh?” said Wesley. “And where izzat? East of Shangri-la and West of Santy Claus’ den?”
“Off the shores of Ooty, actually,” Sophie replied.
Wesley grinned. “Lies.”
“To a guard of Camelot, perhaps,” said Sophie. “The island is hidden by fog. Visible only to maidens and pirates, of which you are neither.”
Her emerald gaze cut through him.
Wesley stopped grinning.
“Show yer face,” he said. “Both of ye.”
Neither girl obeyed.
“Then I’ll do it meself,” he snarled, his sword reaching for Sophie’s veil—
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Sophie calmly. “Remove a girl’s veil and you’ll be cursed to die before the day is done.”
Wesley stared at her. Then at Agatha.
“Bad death!” Agatha piped, with a hideous accent.
Wesley turned to his men. “That true?”
No one disputed it.
“Best be on our way then,” Sophie said, breaking free—
“Not until you dance,” said a voice.
The largest man-wolf stepped into the firelight. The pack leader.
“What?” Sophie asked, off guard.
“Whole Woods is searching for a fugitive girl about your age. King Rhian’s orders,” the man-wolf spoke. “If you are who you say you are, then prove it. One dance and you’re free to go.”
Sophie hesitated, but Agatha jumped in. “No moosic,” she said, sounding like a stuffed-up goat.
“Exactly,” Sophie echoed. “No music, no dance.”
A steady beat punctured the silence.
Both girls looked up at two wolves, rapping on guard armor with sticks.
Tikka tik tok . . . Tikka tik tok . . .
Another wolf slapped his paw against a stone: duk duk dop . . . duk duk dop . . .
A last wolf threw mulch into the fire, with a percussive pahhh . . . pahhh . . .
The man-wolf leader bared teeth at Sophie.
“Dance,” he said.
Sophie glared back at the wolf.
If there was one thing wolves and men had in common, it was that they underestimated the power of a girl.
Sophie could feel Evelyn’s dress changing on her skin, as if she had full command over it the same way Japeth controlled his scims. Soon her white riding clothes had become a sparkly fitted halter and matching harem pants, her veil coated in glitterdust.
The wolf stepped back, startled.
Sophie kicked off her shoes, her arms flurrying, her body spinning into motion. Around her enemies she danced, making them dizzy with her whirls and twists, her bandaged hand grazing Wesley and wolf with teasing touches, before her good hand slashed nails across their cheeks, drawing blood. They were too entranced to revolt, watching Sophie twirl with speed and glimmer, like a sylph born out of the fire, yanking guards’ hair to jeté over them and clutching wolves’ throats to launch into luscious arabesques. The beat quickened, the wolves gaping wet-mouthed. A long time ago, a Beast had punished Sophie by stealing her beauty. Now his kin were slaves to it. Faster and faster, the music went, Sophie heightening her glissades, dropping into splits, capping moves with winks and trills, tossing a guard’s meal into the fire for a last spike of flames . . . before she thrust her heel in a high, stabbing kick, which connected hard with Wesley’s head, knocking his helmet into the fire and revealing his peeling, mottled face.