Across the Snake Sky, butterflies drew more scenes . . .
“These butterflies filled in her version of the story. How Arthur abandoned us. How to assume his throne. There would be steps to take. A carefully made plan. Sabotage Tedros, the false king. Pull Excalibur from the stone. Use Lionsmane to win the people and make leaders burn their rings. Marry the queen named Sophie, whose blood bonded with ours. Do these things—burn the rings and wed Sophie—and we would become the One True King. Immortal, invincible, with the power to bring Mother back to life . . . Only one brother could marry Sophie, of course. Only one could be king. But as long as Rhian and I loved each other, we could share the powers of Sophie’s blood. One of us made king by it. The other, magically healed by it. My mother’s dress would bind her and keep her loyal. All Rhian and I had to do was stick together. Two brothers, Lion and Eagle, against Tedros the Snake.”
Japeth watched the butterflies in the sky. “Rhian believed every word. He loved my mother. He trusted her. He longed to have her back. But I didn’t. I knew she disowned us the day she dumped us at Arbed House. Because she wanted to be rid of me. Because she wanted to find our father and be with him instead . . . But King Arthur that father? Uptight, do-gooding Arthur with my viperous mother? Psssh. I didn’t trust her story one bit . . . In the shimmer of the butterflies’ wings, I began to glimpse secrets hidden in my mother’s spirit . . . a Green Knight who was Arthur’s brother . . . a plot to steal Arthur’s throne . . .” His blue eyes narrowed. “Then I saw it.”
All the butterflies in the sky darkened except for one.
“The butterfly that the others were obeying. The leader amongst them. The butterfly that knew I’d found it out . . .”
The butterfly fluttered down into Japeth’s hands. Cupped in his palm, the insect began to shrink and shrivel . . . black scales coating its body . . . until it was no longer a butterfly at all . . .
. . . but an eel.
It sharpened at both sides like a pen, its color coal-black.
The slimy pen floated out of Japeth’s hand and slipped into his ear.
“This pen told me the true story. King Arthur wasn’t our father at all. We were the School Master’s sons. Rafal’s sons. That’s why Sophie’s blood bonded with ours, like it did with our father’s. If I was hearing this message, then Rafal’s queen had killed him and likely my mother too. We must punish his queen. Follow my mother’s instructions, the pen said. Take Camelot and bring Mother back to life. That’s how we could avenge my mother and father. This pen would help me, made of my father’s spirit. This pen would be our weapon, more than any sword. But the pen warned: I must never let Rhian learn the truth about his father. He needed to believe he was King Arthur’s son. Because he was Good inside. And I was Evil. I must always put my brother first. That’s where Rafal had cursed himself. He’d killed his twin believing he would find truer love. Evil’s love. Only to be killed by that love in return. I couldn’t repeat my father’s story. I had to stay Rhian’s faithful liege to the end. That’s why my father left this message for me to find. So if Rafal failed to find true love, he could be redeemed by his son. Just as I suspect King Arthur left three tests for his son to redeem him.”
The pen flew out of Japeth’s ear, a butterfly once more.
It landed on Tedros’ shoulder.
“Except my father miscalculated,” he said, rising to his feet. “Because he believed love for my brother would satisfy me. Our bloodline, ruling the Woods together. But it wasn’t enough for my father, was it? And it wasn’t for me. Because I found truer love too. Someone who cared for me more than my own blood ever did.”
The ghost of Aric appeared in the sky, made out of butterflies. The butterfly on Tedros’ shoulder fluttered up and joined them, adding the violet sparkle to Aric’s eye.
“Strange that Tedros and I are enemies, when we share so much in common,” said Japeth, as the sharp-haired silhouette glided towards him. “Abandoned by our mothers. Our fathers destroyed by love. No wonder Tedros and I quest to find love for ourselves. Real love. But Tedros trusts the Storian with his fate. Fate which stole love from me, just like it did from Tedros’ father. But unlike Arthur, I won’t shrink from fixing fate’s mistakes. Soon I’ll be fate’s master, with the power to take love back.”
Aric landed on his cloud and Japeth put his arms around him . . . Aric’s glowing outline crumbled, butterflies flying away.
Japeth was alone once more.
He smiled bitterly, his king’s suit blackening to eels. “But first there is a tournament to win,” the Snake said. “A last ring to burn.”
His eyes shot to Agatha.
“Which means killing that.”
The Snake’s scims sharpened, about to attack—
The light in the sky went out.
Every hint of green glow swallowed by hard, flat black.
Agatha whirled around, expecting to be stabbed in the dark—
But then she noticed Tedros gone from her side. And she could still see the shine off Japeth’s suit, the Snake frozen on a higher cloud, like he’d been taken by surprise. Agatha held her breath, trying not to move. If he hadn’t put out the lights, then who? The glint of his eels rippled as if he was turning in place, hunting his prey. It was clear he couldn’t spot Agatha in her cloak. She was too far away, the sky too dark.
Agatha smelled silky fragrance as soft wings closed around her: Sophie, her once-white dress now turned to black feathers, lifting her friend from the cloud and silently flying her down to a lower one, farther away from Japeth. “The dress did it,” Sophie whispered in Agatha’s ear. “It killed the lights. So he couldn’t kill us. It’s helping me, Aggie. It’s been helping me.”
The dress? Agatha thought. But Evelyn left it to bind Sophie to her sons. Why would it help Sophie?
“Tedros. Where is he?” Agatha whispered, unable to see in the dark.
“Thought he was with you,” said Sophie.
Agatha’s stomach knotted—
Tiny hands snatched the girls and yanked them into the cloud. Merlin was huddled in fluff, a finger to his lips. He poked a hole in the cloud so Agatha and Sophie could peek out.
For a moment, the Snake Sky was quiet.
Then the night ripped open, heavenly light pouring forth, radiant and gold.
A shadow appeared in the glow, an imposing silhouette.
Light caught his purple eyes, his ivory skin, the sharp barbs of his hair. He wore sleeveless red leather and black breeches, his legs and arms pumped with muscle.
Agatha broke into a cold sweat.
“Impossible,” Sophie breathed.
He was dead.
They’d seen him die.
But here he was.
As if he’d never died at all.
Agatha looked around for Tedros or Guinevere, but the sky was empty.
Just the Snake and the boy.
“Japeth?” the boy spoke, strapping and deep.
The Snake gave him a dead, chilly look, then continued to search the sky. “Cute trick, Merlin,” he called out, looking everywhere but at the boy. “A mimicking hex? Or transmutation?”
Agatha glanced at the six-year-old between her and Sophie, nervously biting the end of his hat. The most Merlin could do was conjure shapes and play fleeting pranks. No way this was his spell.