“I filled the holes in the cloud with peanut butter,” said Dot, tossing her frumpy curls. “And pretty sure Tedros didn’t tell you about the plan because then you’d nitpick and take command of it and end up making a mess, like you did with the first test.”
Agatha’s neck went red. “He said that?”
“No, but that’s why I won’t tell you the plan,” Dot explained. “You’d think it was your plan and act like you could do it better than us, even if you can’t. It’s what you always do. Goodness, being old makes you honest.”
“So that’s why Tedros’ plan worked. Because his princess couldn’t bungle it. He should keep secrets from you more often,” Anadil needled Agatha, while holding up more white fluff, which Dot zapped into chocolate.
Agatha stared at them, hurt.
“Your rats, Anadil! I saw what happened!” Beatrix cut in, armor jangling as she jammed between Agatha and the witches. “Think they’re still alive?”
“My talent is making them grow. Their talent is finding a way back to me, even when there’s no hope,” Anadil said, forlorn. “But thank you for the concern, Evergirl.”
She gave Beatrix a smile that was halfway sincere and Agatha wondered if in the process of bonding as Knights, old enemies had become new friends.
“That’s what I say about Tristan too,” Kiko spouted, plopping next to Agatha.
“Here we go,” Beatrix groaned.
“That even after he died, he would find his way back to me. And then suddenly Willam appears, who looks so much like him, but every time I try to talk to Willam, that other boy is in the way, the one with the big head, Boston or Bojangle or whatever his name is. But I can be patient. It wouldn’t be a fairy tale if there weren’t things in the way. And imagine if Willam and I end up together. That means Tristan sent Willam to me himself. Or maybe he is Willam. Like a friendly ghost in a different body, who came back to take care of me. So don’t worry.” She kissed Anadil on the cheek. “Your story will take care of your rats too.” Kiko flounced off as Hester sat down.
Anadil eyed her friend. “Do we tell her what Sophie told us?”
“That the boy she thinks is a reincarnation of her dead ‘true love’ who had no interest in girls is the brother of said dead boy who also has no interest in girls?” Hester paused. “No.”
“Cheers to that,” said Anadil.
Soon, they all dispersed into separate clouds—Sophie chatting with Hort, Hester with Beatrix, Reena with Anadil, more friends coupling up—leaving Agatha on her own, watching Merlin zig and zag on a drooping Nightwind, the young wizard carving his name in bright lights across the sky with his fingertip. Agatha fidgeted, her clump tapping restlessly. She was so used to playing peacemaker, shuttling between conflicts, bridging divides, that to see the Knights of Eleven getting along without her—Good and Evil, old and young, friends and strangers—while Hort and Sophie continued their conversation on a far-off cloud . . . It made Agatha feel uncomfortable, like she was Graveyard Girl again, forgotten by the world. Then she remembered this wasn’t Gavaldon. That in this world, she was surrounded by friends, each as capable and strong as her, each as important to this story—including her true love, who at this very moment was trapped in a cave trying to save her from a Snake.
Dot’s right about me, Agatha thought. She’d convinced herself this was her fairy tale to win. Her mountain to conquer. As if she wanted everyone to look to her to lead them. Why? Why couldn’t she let her prince lead? Why did she have to have all the answers?
Her soul whispered back.
If I don’t . . . what am I worth?
It was the same crisis that haunted Tedros. Who was he without his crown? Who was Arthur’s son, if not the king?
And here Agatha was, letting her own insecurities thwart his every attempt to answer these questions for himself.
Her heart wrenched. She’d put her prince in an untenable position. Not just with having to kill her to win the second test. But now having to keep secrets from her in order to do his duty and prove himself a king.
They were different in so many ways, she and Tedros. But in their hearts, they were afflicted by the same malady: each of them needed proof that they were good enough. That they were worthy of love. The same way Agatha had needed proof from Professor Dovey that she could be beautiful. But then, as now, the only cure could come from within. And as long as she and Tedros searched for the answer outside of themselves, they would continue to stand in each other’s way. Like two rival kings having their own tournament.
Maybe that’s why Arthur made this the second test, Agatha thought.
Because he saw a future where she held his son back, instead of helping him.
So he put their love to the fire.
Three tests.
Three answers to find.
Was Agatha the right queen for Tedros?
Or would she be another Guinevere, another curse for Camelot?
That was the king’s question.
Now it was up to Agatha to answer it.
This is my test as much as Tedros’, she thought.
To survive it, she had to trust him.
They had to be a team.
A real one.
If Tedros made it out of the cave alive, that is.
Agatha’s throat tightened.
He’d come back. He had to.
Any minute, he’d fall through the sky and land on her cloud, with those gorgeous eyes and a cocked grin.
In the meantime, to distract herself, Agatha did what old Graveyard Girl used to do: lurk around in darkness and eavesdrop on the living . . .
“That’s what he said to you?” Maid Marian was asking Dot. Marian looked off guard and stiff, as if she’d been cornered by the age-hexed witch. “That he and your mother were . . . ‘love’?”
Dot nodded. “Funny to think he loved someone else besides you, isn’t it?”
Marian’s eyes widened.
“Oh please, even the town fool knew Daddy was obsessed with you,” Dot teased. “It’s why he hated Robin so much. But you were always so kind to Daddy, even with him intent on killing your true love. Sometimes I wondered if you and Daddy had a secret friendship. A moment when you and him were more than enemies.”
“Only a moment,” said Marian quietly. “Your collar. The stitching’s come apart. Let me fix it.”
Marian used a pin from her hair to rethread Dot’s armor.
“You smell nice,” Dot said.
“Like beer and chicken wings?” Marian laughed. “That’s what I smelled like working at the Arrow.”
“No . . . like a homey blanket or pillow.”
“Oh,” said Marian tautly, continuing to sew.
Dot looked up at the Celestium’s moon, made out of cheese, which Merlin took bites out of between rounds of mischief. Dot’s brown skin glowed under the half-eaten orb. For a moment, she seemed ageless. “Daddy never told me about my mother. Said she died when I was young. A few other things here and there. That she was so beautiful that Good and Evil both loved her. That she had a kind heart, even to those who treated her poorly. That she was a good tailor. Not much more than that. But it doesn’t matter, does it? If it was love, real love, like he said . . . then that’s all I need to know.”