“Provided you stay alive,” Evelyn observed. “Your alliance with my brother certainly limits those odds.”
“Then you would bring me back to life, wouldn’t you?” the masked man needled. “My brother was a far more deadly opponent and I put Rhian in his grave. Wizard blood runs through my veins. A blind seer hasn’t a chance against me. Besides, from what I can tell, your brother has done nothing other than tell you the truth: that he does not see you as my true love.”
“Whoever he does see as your true love will kill you,” Evelyn scorned. “And knowing my brother, she’ll kill me too. And who will bring you back to life then? My brother is a greater threat than you realize. He may play the friend to both Good and Evil, but he is as surely on the side of Good as your brother Rhian once was. August won’t rest until you and I suffer the same fate as Rhian. Why do you think August came to teach at your school in the first place?”
The man could see Evelyn’s conviction. Doubt flickered in his pupils . . .
He turned to the Mistrals. “In the unlikely case that Evelyn and I both perish, then it will be up to you, Sisters, to guide the boys to Arthur’s throne. To make them believe they are King Arthur’s sons, so that they may seize control of the Woods. With a little help from me, of course . . .”
He reached down and lifted a single butterfly from Evelyn’s dress. On his finger, it morphed into a small, scaly, black eel, which he raised to his ear, before the tiny eel slithered inside. The masked man closed his eyes, as if imparting his thoughts to the creature, before he gently drew it out the other ear.
“Everything they need to know is here for them to find.”
He held the eel up on his finger, twisting and gleaming in the house’s dull light.
“Including how to bring me back if I die?” asked Evelyn. “Including how to take the Storian’s power?”
The masked man hesitated.
In the corner, the Mistral Sisters smirked. “She believes in the One True King, brother,” spoke Alpa. “It’s why she’s brought us here, too.”
“I’ll leave specious theories to my sisters,” the man said sourly. “But even if the myth of the One True King is true, it would not be enough to claim the powers of the Storian. These boys have my blood. And the Pen rejects my blood, ever since I killed my brother. Even if my sons make all the kingdoms burn their rings, even if they sever the bonds between Man and Pen . . . the Storian’s powers will not be theirs. For the same reason I’m unable to control the Pen. Good is too strong. The balance still intact. But there is a cure, says August Sader. Marrying a queen whose blood is as Evil as mine. A queen whose blood bonds with ours to tip the balance. A queen your brother promises me I’ll find.”
“And if my brother betrays you? If this queen kills you instead?” Evelyn pressed. “Then what?”
The masked man considered this. He whispered to the eel, a wizard making a prophecy: “Then my son will have my revenge . . . by making that queen his own.”
He let the eel morph back into a butterfly before returning it to the rest of the butterflies on Evelyn’s dress. “In the event of our deaths, give them this dress, Sisters. It will lead them to a pen that shows them their future. A new pen. A pen that ensures that even death cannot stop our blood from ruling the Woods.”
“Which pen?” Evelyn asked, unsure.
“The better question is: Which son?” the man spoke, watching the boys. “Which will succeed if we fail?”
He honed in on the ruddier, cheerier boy, still playing with his new fingerglow, Evelyn trying to keep him from squirming off her arm. But then the man noticed the other boy grinning at him. In a flash, the skin on the boy’s face coated with scales, like a snake’s, before it reverted milky and smooth. He saw the man’s eyes widen and the boy giggled, his mother none the wiser.
“But I have my suspicions . . . ,” said the man.
The rosier boy began to whimper, showing distress for the first time. “Shhh . . . my good boy,” Evelyn whispered. “My sweet Rhian.”
She didn’t look at the masked man, her lips curled with triumph, as if she knew the name had made an impact. As if she knew that he was glaring right through her.
“And his name?” the man said, pointing at the paler child.
Evelyn held the second boy close, kissing his face that had just been a snake’s only a moment before. “For a middle name, Japeth, after the knight who saved him. That’s what I’ll call him.”
“And his birth name?” the man asked, stone-cold.
Evelyn finally looked up at him. “Rafal,” she breathed. “For his father.”
The man pulled off his mask and hood, revealing young, frost-white skin, a shock of silver hair, and a smile as wide as the devil’s.
Tedros heard himself scream, Agatha’s own scream slashing into his—
But they were already falling into darkness, the cool insides of a snake opening up into a vast, strange sky.
23
AGATHA
Flesh and Blood
Past is Present and Present is Past.
The Snake.
Son of the School Master.
Son of Rafal.
Pure-blooded Evil.
Following them across time. Across death.
To the End of Ends.
No more time to think—
Agatha’s feet sank into softness, her eyes flying open to a fluorescing green cloud, Tedros landing on a green cloud above her. A black sky expanded around them, with a glossy sheen, as if its surface was wet. Stars pinned against this sky, not childish five-pointed stars but steel snowflakes, edges deadly sharp like a handblade’s, the center of each star a glowing green marble, like an all-seeing eye. In the stars’ dim light, Agatha glimpsed etchings in the black sky, like tree carvings, but Agatha couldn’t make them out, the darkness too thick.
“Help me up,” said Agatha, reaching for her prince.
“The Celestium,” Tedros surmised, hoisting her to his cloud. “Must be reflecting Merlin’s mood, wherever he is . . .”
Except Agatha was on her toes now, shining her fingerglow at the sky’s carvings.
Agatha skin crawled. “No. Not Merlin’s.” She lit up the sky—
“Japeth & Aric.” Tedros shrank backwards. “Agatha . . . this is the Snake’s place to think.”
“Rafal’s blood . . . ,” Agatha rasped. “Wizard’s blood . . .”
“Which means he knows we’re here,” her prince said. “He brought us here.”
Panicked, they scanned the Snake Sky, but found only more glowing green clouds, razor-sharp stars, lovesick carvings.
A noise scuffed behind them and they whipped around—
Guinevere and Merlin appeared on a cloud.
“Big Mama!” Merlin piped, pointing at Guinevere.
Tedros’ mother stared down her son. “Told you that mirror was trouble, Tedros. Japeth must have known you went inside his secrets. Moment you did, Merlin felt Japeth’s spirit vanish to his thinking place. Luckily, wizards can access other wizards’ thinking spots.”
“Tee Tee needs Big Mama . . . for big job . . . ,” Merlin said, winking at Tedros.