The Coven

Hester, Anadil, and Dot sat shell-shocked in a stinking cell, flanked by fellow quest team members Beatrix, Reena, Hort, William, Bogden, Nicola, and Kiko.

"Sunlight?" Hort scoffed. "Nic, I know they do things differently in Reader World, but in our world, dungeons are below ground."

"Is that one of the perks of having a boyfriend? Having him explain things to me I already know?" said Nicola acidly, squinting through the hole.

"I never said it'd be someone on the outside," said Professor Dovey intently.

The whole crew looked at her.

"Sophie," said Hort.

"Hort, given your father was a pirate, I'm assuming you might know these boys?"

"No one I'd call a friend," Hort punted, picking at his sock.

"Well, try to befriend them," Dovey urged.

"I'm not befriending a bunch of thugs," Hort shot back. "They're mercenaries. They're not real pirates."

"And are you a real Professor of History? If you were, you'd know that even mercenary pirates joined the Pirate Parley in helping King Arthur fight the Green Knight," Dovey rebutted. "Talk to these boys. Get as much information as you can."

Hort hesitated. "What kind of information?"

"But y-y-you're…dead!" Hort cried. (about Snake)

Hort, Nicola, and Dot tried to comfort her, but she was crying so hard she started to shiver. (Anadil after her rat died)

"How did the Snake know the other rats were searching for Merlin and Agatha?" Hort blurted as if there was no more time to mourn.

"So a mirror spell can let you see anything bigger from far away?" Hort said, wide-eyed. "Why didn't anyone show me this spell at school?"

"Because we all know how you would have used it," Professor Dovey scorched.

"Not bad enough, whatever it is," Hort's voice said, hijacking the demon. "He got us into this mess by fawning over Rhian like a lovedrunk girl."

"Oh so being a 'girl' is an insult now?" Nicola's voice ripped, the demon suddenly looking animated in agreement.

"Look, if you're going to be my girlfriend, you have to accept I'm not some intellectual who always knows the right words to use," Hort's voice rebuffed.

"YOU'RE A HISTORY PROFESSOR!" Nicola's voice slapped.

"Whatever," Hort barged on. "You saw the way Tedros gave Rhian the run of his kingdom, letting him recruit the army and give speeches like he was the king."

"And to answer the second, every boy you like ends up a bogey," Hort's voice jumped in, the demon trying to keep up like a ventriloquist. "First you were friends with Aric. Then you were friends with Filip. And now you canoodled with the devil himself!"

"I did not canoodle with anyone!" Tedros yelled at the demon. "And if any of us is cozying up to the devil, you're the one who's friends with Sophie!"

"Yeah, Sophie, the only person who can rescue us!" Hort's voice heckled.

"Put Hort back on," Tedros demanded. "After three years of Sophie using you as her personal bootlicker without giving you the slightest in return, now you think she's going to rescue us?"

"Just because you wouldn't help people who needed it when the Snake attacked doesn't mean she wont," Hort's voice thrashed.

"Idiot. Once she tastes a queen's life, she'll let us burn while she feasts on cake," Tedros slammed.

"Sophie doesn't eat cake," Hort sniffed.

"You think you know Sophie better than me?"

"When she rescues you from that cell, you're going to feel like a boob—"

Sophie

"Well, in that case…," Sophie said innocently. "I choose Hort."

Which meant now they had a deal.

She would write his stories. Hort would be freed.

Hort

When Hort was a child, a pirate boy named Dabo used to bully him by roping him to a tree and putting things down his pants. Roaches, leeches, ants, cat poo, spiders, pee-filled snow, and once a stolen hawk egg, which the mother hawk came for, leaving Hort with ten stitches in his thigh.

But none of this compared to the sheer torture of having one of the Snake's slimy, sticky eels worm down his shirt, probing every inch of skin.

Hort stood stiffly in the corner of Sophie's bedroom, clad in a poofy, ill-fitting white tunic and matching harem pants that he had to double-knot so they wouldn't fall down. He focused on the sounds of the bath running and Sophie's faint humming as the eel roamed over his chest. He tried not to scream.

His release from the dungeons had come with a price . A scim stuck to him like a parasite. A sliver of the Snake's body melded onto his own, spying on his every move—-

"Hey," Hort snarled, snatching the scim as it slithered into his pants. The eel hissed and stabbed his thumb, drawing a drop of blood, before it hopped up Hort's flank and neck and

curled around his ear.

"Dirty little bugger," Hort murmured, sucking his thumb. He wanted to grab the little leech and smash it and grind it to a pulp, but he knew another scim would replace it. If he was lucky. More likely he'd be killed or thrown back in the dungeons.

Morning sun frayed through the window and Hort rubbed his eyes . He'd been freed from his cell last night by the Snake—who, upon hearing his brother had made a deal with Sophie to

set Hort free, had taken it upon himself to do the freeing, for the sole purpose of tormenting Tedros into thinking it was the prince that Sophie had released. Then the Snake had dragged

Hort out of the dungeons, slapped him with a surveilling scim, and whisked him straight to a servant's quarters the size of a closet , where he'd been locked in the dark. At dawn, Hort had

been jolted awake by guards, fitted in this billowing uniform like a discount genie, and brought to the queen's chamber, sleepless and filthy, and told to wait for his new "Mistress" to emerge from her bath.

Why did Sophie pick me? he wondered now.

She could have picked amyone. Tedros. Hester. She could picked Doury She could have picked the Dean.

Does she need me for something only I can do?

Is she sacrificing me so the others can live?

His blood pumped hotter

Or … . did she choose to save me first ?

The scim moved and Hort remembered it was there. Only Sophie could make him forget about a monster on his ear.

He blushed hotter and sniffed his armpits. Blech. Maybe he could ask to use the bath after she was finished. He'd need to be quick. The Blessing was in less than an hour and as her

new "steward," he'd been tasked with getting her ready, even though he had no idea what that meant.

Hort glanced around the vast room, suddenly ashimmer in sunlight. Everything looked freshly remodeled: the blue marble tiles with Lion emblems, the silk wallpaper textured with gold Lions, the flawless gem-crusted mirrors, and a clean white settee stitched with a gold Lion's head.

All that time playing Tedros loyal knight, Hort snorted, thinking of Rhian's perfectly honed act . Almost made him feel sorry for Tedros.

Almost

The scim started creeping down his neck again.

Hort could hear the bathwater draining. His thoughts turned to Sophie in the bath and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. He had a girlfriend now, who was pretty and smart and fun, and when you have a girlfriend, you're not supposed to think about other girls, especially girls in bathtubs and girls you've obsessed about for three years. He tried to distract himself with details of the room but found his eyes moving to Sophies bed… the silky, rumpled sheets… the tin of hazelnuts on the night table… the cup of tea and vial of untouched honey…the red lipstick on the edge of the cup…

The doors opened behind him and two young maids in white uniforms that matched the color of his own entered the queen's chamber, lugging heaps of garment bags. Hort hustled to help and saw each bag was branded with VON ZARACHIN FABRICS as he hauled them into his arms and laid them over the settee. He turned to the maids, but they were already shuffling back through the doors, heads down and faces hidden by their bonnets.

"Are those my dresses from Madame Clothilde? Thank goodness," Sophie said sweeping out of the bathroom in a pink robe, a towel turbaned around her head, as she barely gave Hort a glance. "Madame Clothilde Von Zarachin is the empress of fashion in the Woods. All the best princesses are wearing her clothes. Madame Clothilde even designed Evelyn Sader's gown, you know, the one made out of those spying blue butterflies. Nearly killed us all our second year, but c'est magnifique, wasn't it? Last night I wrote Madame in a panic, begging her to send me something to wear for the Blessing, and given my new position, she naturally obliged. She warned it would be prohibitively expensive, but I told her Rhian would pay, whatever the cost. He and his brother have lost all right to clothe me after last night. Not just because the dress they gave me was gruesome (though I certainly made it more chic), but because it gave me hives, Hort. As soon as I got back to my room, it started burning my skin like it was made of fire ant. You know how allergic I am to cheap fabric. In any case, I got the dress off before it did any real damage and smoked it to a crisp." She watched the last shreds of it smolder in the fireplace. "No, no, no, I won't wear anything of their mother's ever again. They needn't even bring up the idea. Is that clear? Hort?"

She glared at Hort for the first time.

Hort blinked."Um."

Only now he saw that Sophie wasn't glaring at him, but at the scim on his neck, as if her entire monologue had been delivered for its benefit. She fluttered over to the settee. "Now let's find something appropriate for church—-

Hort stepped in her path. "Sophie. What am I doing here?"

Sophie locked eyes with him. "First of all, it's Mistress Sophie, since you are my steward now. Second, I don't know what you are 'doing' other than idling about in poor-fitting pajamas and smelling like a gorilla, but what you are supposed to be doing is helping me prepare for my first wedding event."

"Look, no one's here—get this thing off me—" Hort demanded, pointing at his scim.

"Help me open boxes… I'm going to be late…" Sophie puffed.

"I don't care! Sophie, you need to—"

Sophie shot a pink spark past Hort's ear with her lit finger and the scim on his neck swiveled towards the door, just long enough for Sophie to mouth at Hort: "IT CAN HEAR."

Hort swallowed.

"How about this?" Sophie said brightly, holding up a brilliant blue sari, stitched with peacock feathers. "It'll make the Blessing feel more worldly—-"

Eight gold scims tore through it like arrows , ripping it to shreds.

Sophie and Hort spun to see Japeth enter in the gold-and-blue suit he'd worn at Rhian's coronation, before the eight gold scims circled back and fused into his suit. Rhian's twin had a black eye, gashes in his forehead and cheeks, and there were several rips in his shirt, bloody skin exposed underneath.

"That is what you will be wearing to the Blessing," he said to Sophie.

Sophie followed his eyes to the fireplace …

…where a prim, ruffled white frock lay over the cold coals.

Sophie recoiled in shock.

"That is what you will wear every day," said Japeth. "That is your uniform. And if you choose to desecrate my mother's dress again, I will desecrate you in precisely the same manner."

Sophie's eyes were still on the dress. "B-b-but I burnt it! To ashes, right there. There was nothing left . . . How can it be back…"

Meanwhile, Hort was gawking at Japeth, who looked like he'd been mauled by a tiger. Japeth returned a glare and morphed into his black Snake suit, the skintight scims revealing even more clearly the bloody rips in his armor.

"Protests to support Tedros," he explained. "Put up a fight, those dogs. Could have used the king's help, but he was too busy making deals to let prisoners free." He wiped blood from his lip. "Didn't matter in the end. There was nothing left of 'em." He peered down at his own battered body…then turned to Sophie, who was still gazing at the fireplace. Japeth's eyes sparked ominously.

"Like it never happened …" he said.

He made a sharp move for the princes . Sophie saw him coming.

"Don't touch her!" Hort yelled, streaking for the Snake—

Japeth seized Sophie's palm and slit it open with a scim, before he smeared her hand over his chest and face in a single move.

Hort froze, shell-shocked.

The Snake quivered; he tilted his head back in pain, his jaw flexing, as Sophie's blood spread over his wounds and magically healed him, his face and body restored.

Hort swallowed a shriek.

"Now, then. How about a tea?" the Snake said, smiling at Sophie. "I'm making some for my brother. We're particular about our tea."

Sophie stared at him.

"It'll settle your nerves," said Japeth, reverting to his gold-and-blue suit, shiny and clean. His grin widened. " First wedding event and all."

"No thank you," Sophie rasped.

"Suit yourself," said Japeth. "Meet us in the Throne Room. You'll ride with us to the church."

His eyes flicked to Hort. "You too, steward."

Japeth strode out of the room and as he did, a last scim floated off his suit, dangled high in the air… and harpooned through Madame Clothilde's garment bags, up and down, right and left, zigging and zagging until they were shot through with holes. The scim moseyed after its master, the door closing softly behind it.

Silence filled the queen's chamber.

The eel on Hort's neck zipped over to the settee and found a garment bag that had slipped between cushions and stabbed it repeatedly, gurgling and grunting to itself.

Slowly, Hort turned to Sophie, who stood in the center of the room, her palm cut open, dripping blood onto her bathrobe.

He noticed a shallower cut on the same hand next to the open gash.

Japeth had done this to her before.

Hort's stomach curled.

What the hell?

How could her blood heal him?

What did I just see?

Sophie looked at him, lost and scared.

If she'd had a plan in getting him out, she'd lost faith in it.

Help, her eyes said.

Only Hort had no way to help. Not until she told him why she'd picked him over everyone else. Not until she told him what was going on.

Hort waited until the scim was well-distracted, continuing

to tear up Sophie's new clothes. Carefully Hort raised his lit finger and wrote in tiny smoke letters that dissipated as they formed…

WHY AM I HERE?

Sophie glanced over at the eel, stabbing and gurgling. Then she wrote Hort back.

I trust you

At first he didn't understand.

But then he did.

Sophie had waited her whole life for love.

"Someday my prince will come," she'd wished.

She'd kissed a lot of frogs.

Some had tried to marry her. Some had tried to kill her.

But no one loved her. Not in the right way.

Except him.

And Sophie knew it.

She knew Hort loved her. That he would always love her, no matter what terrible things she'd done to him, how many awful boys she'd snogged, no matter whether he had a beautiful, awesome girlfriend or not. She knew that even with his heart pledged to Nicola, Hort would help her. That if she could just get him out of jail, he'd never let anything happen to her.

And now here he was, sprung from the dungeons to join her in taking on a creep king and his bloodsucking liege.

To be her second. To be her liege in this fight.

No Agatha to show him up this time.

No Tedros to humiliate him.

No one but him.

Hort's fists sealed like rocks.

This was his chance to be a hero.

His one and only chance.

And he intended to take it.

As HE ACCOMPANIED Sophie through the Blue Tower hall, Hort slipped his hand in his pocket and felt the sticky nuts clumped together.

He'd stolen them while Sophie was changing in the bathroom. Two hazelnuts, which he'd smothered in honey and hidden in his big genie pants while his scim finished massacring Madame Clothilde's creations, He'd used a pebble coated in tree sap when he'd taken has revenge on Dale, the pirate bully, but today, hazelnuts and honey would have to do. If all went according to plan, Rhian would be dead before the Blessing.

He glanced over at Sophie, but she wasn't looking at him, her hands folded in front of her prudish white dress, which she'd worn as Japeth commanded. Blood stained the bandage around her palm, getting redder by the second. Hort could tell she was still shaken by what the Snake had done to her: not because of her unsteady walk or her empty gaze or her poor wrapped bandage… but because of her shoes. She'd worn flat dull slippers with as much style as Agatha's clumps.

His hand grazed hers, which felt stone cold.

Hort wanted to comfort her … to tell her he had a plan… but his spying eel was around his ear again, back at attention.

Meanwhile, he could feel guilt gnawing at him, as if he was cheating on Nicola by being here with Sophie.

Don't be an idiot. Nicola would want him to do anything it took to save his friends. And it's not like he was trying to make Sophie his girlfriend. Those days were over. He had Nic now: a girl who loved him for who he was, unlike Sophie, who'd never thought he was good enough. Well, soon he'd have the last laugh. Because he was going to show Sophie he was good enough… Just in a strictly platonic way.

He saw a maid approaching, older than the ones in Sophie's room—

Hort startled.

Guinevere.

Her lips were sealed by a scim like the one on his ear. Which meant she too was under the kings eye.

But there was something else, Hort noticed. Something near her ear. Something tiny and purple tucked deep in her white hair that the scim on her mouth couldn't see… A flower. Tedros' mother never wore jewelry or makeup, let alone flowers in her hair, let alone while captive in a murderer's castle.

But by the time he could get a good look at it, Guinevere was already past them, giving Hort and Sophie only a cursory glance.

Hort refocused, hewing to Sophies side as they neared the staircase at the end of the hall. Now wasn't the time to worry about Tedros' mother or what she was up to.

Rhian's waiting, he thought, nuts rubbing in his pocket. You'll only get one chance.

But as they neared the top of the staircase, Sophie paused over the banister.

Hort followed her eyes to the ground floor.

Rhian sat on King Arthurs throne, clutching a mug as he perused a large box of green marbles, holding up each one and peering into it like a spyglass. From overhead, Hort could see

the copper gleam of his close-cut hair and a jagged scar across the top of his skull. Steam curled off Rhian's tea and rose over Arthurs gold throne, Camelot's crest carved into the back and Lion claws at the end of its arms. The throne occupied an elevated stage, leading down short steps to the rest of the Throne Room. Behind the king, blue sky framed him like a canvas through floor to-ceiling glass, beyond which Hort could see a gold message in the sky from Rhian's phony pen, about a boy named Hristo who wanted to be Rhian's knight. At the king's feet lay a colossal rug, stretching down the steps, the fabric stitched like a painted tapestry, depicting the scene of…Rhian's coronation, Hort realized, leaning over the rail.

In rococo hues of blue and gold, Rhian triumphantly pulled Excalibur from the stone, while Tedros, sewn with a gnarled body and ogre's face, was forced to his knees by guards. In the foreground, the people of Camelot cheered. Sophie was in the scene too, hands clasped, a loving smile on her face as she watched her new husband-to-be.

The scene looked so perfectly rendered, so real, that Hort had to remind himself that it hadn't happened that way at all.

He glanced at Sophie, who was staring listlessly at the rug, as if the lie might as well be the truth.

Hort scanned the room for Rhian's twin. The Snake was nowhere to be seen.

But Rhian wasn't alone.

Those three strange sisters that Hort had seen released from jail lurked at the base of the steps beneath the stage, cloaked in shadow. Two pirate guards in helmets and full armor stood on

either side of them. The sisters seemed tense, their bare feet twitching, as they watched Rhian gaze into each green marble in the box.

"These are the RSVPs to the wedding," he said. "Many rulers sent messages, showing me how excited their kingdoms are about their new king and queen. "With a lit finger, he floated

a handful of green marbles into the air, which cat smoky green projections of scenes from around the Woods: magic carpets departing in Shazabah from a station labeled "WEDDING TOURS," with mile long lines of passengers waiting their turn; a beachside congregation in Ooty, where thousands gathered to watch Lionsmane's new tale glow against the northern lights; a fierce competition in Maidenvale to see who would represent the kingdom in the Circus of Talents; young Hristo's beaming classmates in Malabar Hills; holding a sign: "FRIENDS OF HRISTO, FUTURE KNIGHT."

"Every kingdom in the Endless Woods accepted the invitation," said Rhian. "Every single one."

Then he held up a red marble from the box.

"Except this one."

His eyes lowered to the three hags. "And its leader was kind enough to send a message too."

A projection leapt out of the ball in Rhian's hand, with a greasy , bearded man glaring daggers at the king.

Hort's and Sophie's eyes widened, recognizing him at once.

"I'm sorry to decline your invitation, Your Highness," the Sheriff of Nottingham said, "but as long as my daughter is in your dungeons, Camelot is an enemy of Nottingham." He loomed closer in the projection. "By the way , strange coincidence, isn't it, that the man who robbed my prison and freed the Snake is now the captain of your guard. Kei's his name, isn't it? Why would he want to go freeing the Snake? Hmm? One thing I do know: you robbed me… and soon I'll rob you."

The message flew back into the marble, which rolled out of Rhian's hand and clinked gently into the box.

The king looked at the three sisters. " You have one job. To keep the kingdoms on my side until the wedding. All the kingdoms. And you can't even do that."

The low-voiced sister cleared her throat. "Just release Dot and the problem will disappear. Sheriff won't cause trouble once she's free."

"I agree with Alpa," said the high-pitched one. "You don't need her. Dot's dumb as a slug. That's how we sprung Japeth out of prison. By using her."

"Bethna's right," the hissy third nodded. "Nip the problem in the bud. The girl's useless to you."

Rhian took a sip of tea. "I see. A leader of a kingdom threatens to attack me and you'd like to kindly return his daughter."

The three hags shifted on bony legs like egrets.

The king turned to a guard. "Send a team to kill the Sheriff. Make it look like supporters of Tedros did it." Then he gazed darkly at the sisters. "As for you, I'd think long and hard about what happens to advisors whose advice a king no longer takes. Get out."

The three hags sunk their heads and skittered from the room.

As they exited, Kei hustled in and blew past the pirate guards—

"Sire," he said, "Today's Camelot Courier."

Rhian took it from his captain.

From the balcony, Hort could see the front page headline:

AGATHA SAFE AT

SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL

Leading a Rebel Army Against "King" Rhian

"A real captain would be catching Agatha instead of giving me old news," said the king. "Japeth's map already told me she'd made it to school. Lucky for you and your men, no one outside Camelot will believe it and you'll have her in my dungeons soon enou—" He saw Kei's expression. "What is it?"

Kei handed over two more newspapers.

THE NOTTINGHAM NEWS

AGATHA SAFE AT SCHOOL!

STIRRING A REBEL ARMY?

THE SHERWOOD FOREST REPORT

AGATHA LIVES! REAL QUEEN

OF CAMELOT LEADING ARMY

AGAINST RHIAN !

Loud cracks detonated behind him and Rhian turned to see a hawk rapping on the glass with its beak, a scroll in its talons and a royal collar around its neck. Then a collared crow flew up next to the hawk with its own scroll … then a fairy…then a hummingbird … then a winged monkey… all unfurling notes against the glass.

"Messages from your allies, sire," said the guard closest to the window. "They want to know if the Blessing will be secure, given rumors of a 'rebel army'"

Rhian bared his teeth, turning on Kei. "Catch that witch now!"

"The magical barrier around the school is stronger than we thought," Kei defended. "We've recruited the best sorcerers from other kingdoms, trying to find one who can break through—"

But suddenly Hort wasn't listening anymore. He was staring at Rhian's tea mug, abandoned on the seat of the throne directly under the balcony.

This was his chance.

As the scim curled around his right ear, Hort slowly slipped his hand into his left pocket, out of the eel's view.

Standing to Hort's left , Sophie felt his hand brush her hip. She glanced down and saw him draw two hazelnuts out of his pants, gobbed in honey. Her eyes flew to Hort's. But he didn't

look at her as he leaned across the railing on his right elbow, hung his left hand over the balcony … and smoothly released the clumped nuts.

They plunked deep into the mug of tea with the cleanest of splashes.

Sophie goggled at Hort, but the scim on Hort's ear had curled around, sensing something afoot, and Sophie quickly pretended to fix Hort's collar. "You know what? The king seems busy," she said to her steward, with a loaded look. "Lets go back to our chamber and let him enjoy his tea."

"Yes, mistress," Hort said, stifling a grin.

As they started walking, Hort could see Rhian still chastising Kei below.

"Guards!" Rhian called, summoning Lionsmane back into hand."Bring me Sophie."

Spooked, Sophie sped her pace down the hall, but Hort's eel bolted off him and over the balcony, letting out a piercing shriek.

Rhian's eyes flicked to the second floor, where the black scim had blocked Sophie's path, pointing at the princess's head like an arrow.

A short while later, Sophie paced on the throne stage, gazing at her work, glowing hot pink in midair.

A pirate stood onstage, hand on his sword, his dark helmeted eyes moving warily between Hort and Sophie.

Sophie tapped her glowing pink fingertip to her lips, rereading her words—

Agatha has been caught! Another traitor of Camelot, brought down by the Lion. Do not believe other reports.

"Not quite right," Sophie murmured.

Hort studied her from one side of the stage steps, while Rhian watched her from the other.

Sophie turned to Rhian. "Are you sure this is wise? You said Lionsmane is supposed to rival the Storian. To inspire and give hope. Not be the king's mouthpiece."

"I choose the stories. You write them," said Rhian curtly.

"Plus, the Storian reports facts, Sophie argued. "So far Lionsmane's stories have been true, distorted as they are. But this is a lie that can be found out—"

"When your dear friend Agatha is being tortured in our dungeons, we can finish this conversation," said the king.

Sophie stiffened and went back to work.

Hort, meanwhile, had fantasies of bashing Rhian's head like a ripe pumpkin. Comparatively, Sophie was handling the situation quite well, he thought. He knew how much she cared about Agatha. Touting her own friend's demise couldn't be easy.

He glanced furtively at the mug of tea on Rhian's throne, growing cold.

He saw Sophie glance over at it too and meet his eyes for a half-second.

"Drats your name, isn't it?" Rhian asked, sidling against Hort.

Hort wanted to knee the sleazy, lying scum in the crown jewels or at least tell him to back the hell up, but he controlled himself.

"Its Hort, Your Highness. And thank you for generously

allowing me to serve in your castle."

"Mmhmm," said Rhian. "Though you won't serve long if you keep smelling like a sewer. Do us all some good and learn to bathe. I'm not sure that's something they teach you in fairy-tale school."

Hort clenched his teeth. Rhian knew full well why he stank. He just wanted to bully Hort the way he'd bullied Tedros. It's why Rhian was pressed hard against him, so Hort could feel his biceps, bigger than his own. Hort himself had been jacked with muscle until he'd left on this quest, but he hadn't lifted weights in weeks and he'd started to whittle back down to a weasel's frame. It hadn't bothered him much, since Nicola liked the old, scrawny Hort she'd read about in books. But it bothered him now.

"Truth is, when Sophie chose you, I couldn't remember you at all." said Rhian. "Had to flip back through Sophie's fairy tale to see who you were. Easy to get you and Dot confused since you're both deadweight. But you're the one who Sophie wanted free, so here you are … for now." The king turned to Hort, hardening to stone. "One wrong move and I'll carve out your heart ."

Hort didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. He could see Sophie pretending to work, but he knew she was listening. The color had returned to her checks, as if her spirit had revived. As if she was brewing a plan… Her eyes darted back to the tea on the king's throne.

"Surprised she picked you." Rhian baited Hort. "From what I read, you're the boy she never wanted."

"Surprised you're still alive, Your Highness," said Hort.

"Oh, is that why she picked you? Because you're going to kill me?" Rhian attacked, eyes flashing.

Hort looked at him quizzically. "No, Your Highness. I mean that William and Bogden predicted you'd be dead by now. That you'd have an accident before the Blessing. Saw it in their tarot cards down in the dungeons. And they're never wrong."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hort," Sophie said, turning, "Those two couldn't predict a storm if they were in the middle of one." She peered at Hort intently, as if reading his mind, before looking at the king. "Bogden was my student and failed all of his classes and Willam is an altar boy who I once caught having a passionate conversation with a peony bush. If those two are

seers, then I'm the Bearded Lady of Hajira." She turned back to her work. "Oh yes, I see what's missing." She revised with pink glow —

Celebrate! Rogue Agatha has been

caught ! Yet another enemy of Camelot,

brought down by the Lion. Scoff at all

other reports. There is only one army,

the Lion's Army . And it is made of you:

the people of the Wood! Live under

the Lion and you will be safe forever.

"There. Ready to post," Sophie said, itching at her starchy white dress. "You know, the writing process is strangely fulfilling. Challenges every part of you." She picked Rhian's mug of tea off the throne, handed it to the guard onstage, and sank down into the golden seat. "Even if it's in the service of pure fiction."

Hort tracked the mug in the guard's hands, waiting for Sophie to make her move… but instead, she reclined against the throne, looking increasingly at ease, as Rhian inspected her work. Lionsmane floated out of the kings pocket, the gold pen hovering next to him, waiting for him to approve Sophie's message.

Rhian kept rereading it.

"If you think you can do better, you're welcome to try." Sophie mused.

"Just seeing if you've hidden anything inside of it," the king growled. "You know …like a message to your friend and her 'rebel' army."

"Yes, that's me. The Sultaness of Subterfuge," Sophie wisped. "Slipping unbreakable codes into a king's propaganda."

Rhian ignored her, still studying her words.

To Hort's alarm, the king had forgotten about his tea entirely. With Rhian's back turned, Hort kept glaring at Sophie, who seemed to have forgotten about the tea too as she sat there smiling like a Cheshire cat. What was she doing? Why did she look so smug? She needed to get him to drink the tea! Hort's heart hammered. Should he offer Rhian the tea himself? How suspicious would that look! Sweat trickled down his check. He needed to settle down or his scim would sense something—

That's when Sophie rose and calmly took the mug back from the guard.

"Your tea is getting cold and I can't stand the smell," she said, walking it down to the king. "What did you make it with? Burnt leather and cow dung?"

Barely looking at her, Rhian swiped it and magical reheated the mug with his gold fingerglow, his eyes still vetting Sophie's message…

"We're going to be late," Sophie said, firing a spell at the message, gilding it in gold, before she magically shot it through the window and into the sky, where it branded against the brilliant blue. "People will think I'm having cold feet."

Rhian frowned, still focused on the message. "Where's Japeth?"

"Licking his scales?" Sophie mused.

Rhian turned to the guard. "Fetch my brother, so we can ride with him. "He took a last big swig of his tea.

Hort held his breath. He saw the clumped hazelnuts slide to the surface and straight into the kings throat—

Rhian choked instantly.

He dropped the teacup, which shattered and splashed as he grabbed his throat with a wheezing spasm.

It'd been the same choke that Hort had induced in Dabo with a tree-sapped pebble before the bully had managed to cough it out. But this time. Hort used two nuts. Rhian doubled over, hacking with all his might, but all that came out was a gasp.

For a brief, shining moment, he thought Rhian was going die, just like he'd hoped. Sophie backed up at Horts side, eyes widening, as if her nightmare was over—

But then Hort saw the guards running for the king.

Time for Plan B.

Hort's head swung to Sophie. She read his face.

Sophie sprinted in front of the guards and seized Rhian from behind, crushing his stomach with both arms, again and again, until the king coughed up the nuts with such force that they slammed a hole in the glass and flew out into the clean air.

Blue-faced, Rhian heaved for breath as Sophie thumped on his spine. He yanked away from her—

"You poisoned me…you witch!" he wheezed, spotting the crack in the window. "You put something…in my tea…"

Sophie flashed that indignant look that Hort knew so well. "Poisoned you! And here I thought I saved your life!"

Doubled over, Rhian shook his head. "It was you—I know it was you—"

"Wouldn't the guard on the stage have seen it, then?" Sophie lashed. "Wouldn't my steward's slimy little eel?"

The king turned his head to the guard, who said nothing. Hort's scim gave a confused burble.

"If I wanted you dead, I'd have let you strangle yourself," Sophie hectored. "Instead, I rescued you. And you have the nerve to accuse me?"

Rhian searched her face. He glanced at Hort, who made his move.

"Not to overstep my bounds, sire," said Sophies steward, "but the real question is who made the tea."

Rhian eyed him narrowly. "Japeth brought it from the kitchens," he said, still rasping. He swiveled to a guard. "Askhim who made it. Whoever made the tea, bring them here and I'Il rip out their throat—"

"I made it," said a voice.

Rhian, Hort, and Sophie raised their eyes.

Japeth posed in silhouette at the entrance to the Throne Room.

"And I made it exactly how you like it," he said.

"And you didn't notice something in it?" Rhian blasted. "Something big enough to kill me?"

Japeth's blue eyes chilled. "First you indulge that witch. Then you let a prisoner free. And now I'm trying to kill you with your tea."

"Accidents happen," his brother fumed. "Especially accidents that would make you king."

"That's right. Such a good sleuth," Japeth sneered. "Such a good king."

The two brothers glared daggers at each other.

"Think I'll skip this morning's festivities," said Japeth.

He exited the room, his boots clacking on tile.

A hot, wormy tension stayed behind.

Hort picked his moment.

One last move.

"See? Willam and Bogden were right," Hort whispered to Sophie, but loud enough for Rhian to hear. "They said the king would die before the Blessing!"

"Don't be an imp," Sophie scoffed, catching his drift. "First of all, the king didn't die. Second, it was a silly accident, and third, just because Willam and Bogden have had a few lucky

guesses, doesn't mean they're harbingers of doom. Now go fetch the carriage. I'll bring Rhian—"

"Wait," said the king.

Hort and Sophie turned in perfect synch.

Rhian straightened, his shadow casting over them.

"Guards, bring Willam and Bogden from the dungeons," he ordered. "They'll ride with us too."

Sophie clasped her chest. "Willam and Bogden? Are you…sure?"

Rhian didn't answer, already stalking out of the hall.

Sophie hurried behind him, snapping at her steward to follow. And as she did, her eyes met Hort's for a sliver of a moment.

Not long enough for Rhian or a scim to notice.

But long enough for Hort to see Sophie wink at him, as if he'd earned his place at her side.

Hort blushed in his heart, chasing after his mistress.

At last, her Weasel had come.

Sophie

As Sophie followed Rhian, Hort trailing behind her, she could feel her heart rumbling like a drum. The weasel had done well, but until Tedros was back on the throne, their work was far from done. She needed to talk to Hort alone but there no chance of that. Not with Rhian riding with them to the Blessing and that demented eel on Hort's neck—

Sophie glimpsed the horses through the window, pulling the royal carriage up the drive.

Unless

No time to think. She made her move, lurching back and grabbing on to Hort's sweaty hand, ignoring his stunned expression. She'd never held the weasel's hand before—who knew where that hand had been—but these were desperate times.

Tattooed Thiago held the door open for the king as the carriage arrived. "Wesley is fetching those boys from the dungeons as you ordered, sire," he said, armor glinting in the sunlight. "Will you need a second carriage?"

The king didn't break stride. "We'll all fit in one."

"Don't be ridiculous. A queen can't arrive at her first wedding event packed like a sardine. Hort and I can ride alone," Sophie scoffed, barreling past the king, dragging Hort like a scolded child, and throwing him into the carriage that hadn't fully stopped. She fumbled in behind him, grabbing on to his rump to steady herself, and smiled back at Rhian. "See you at the church!"

Pretending to lose her balance, she ripped Hort's scim off like a strip of hot wax and flung it out the carriage door—"Oh dear!" she gasped—before slamming the door shut.

"We have five seconds before he opens this door" Sophie intoned.

"Good news is I got Rhian and Japeth fighting," Hort said, breathless.

"Evil news: Rhian is still alive, Japeth is still his brother, and I'm still marrying a monster," said Sophie.

"Good: Agatha is safe at the School for Good and Evil," Hort contended.

"Evil: A team of sorcerers is on their way to her and I just lied to the entire Woods that she's been captured," said Sophie.

"Good: Willam and Bogden are about to be free—"

"Evil: Literally anyone else in that cell would have been more useful than those goons, your girlfriend included, and if the Blessing goes off as planned, that means we're three events

from Tedros losing his head. If Agatha is building an army, then we need more time, Hort. We need to delay the Blessing somehow!"

"Exactly," said Hort. "Why do you think I picked Willam and Bogden over everyone else?"

Sophie stared at him … then grinned with understanding.

The carriage door swung open —

Rhian glowered, his face in shadow.

Before Sophie could speak, a scim shot through the door and smashed into Hort, who let out a resounding shriek, sending the horses rearing.

Neither Willam nor Bogden had time to bathe before being shoved next Hort inside the carriage, which now reeked so badly of dungeon sweat that Sophie could hardly breathe.

Say yes, Sophie thought, seeing Hort glare at them with the same message. Just say yes. That's all we need.

She knew she'd been too chipper, because Hort tensed his buttocks and Rhian gave her a suspicious look.

"The second we return, you'll be thrown back in the dungeons." His eyes shot to Hort. "You too, since you vouched for these fruit flies. In the meantime, you three will be locked here during the Blessing. The smell of you alone is good reason to have you out of sight.

Meanwhile, Hort kept glancing at Sophie, but she ignored him, while Willam and Bogden quietly reordered their cards. For a moment, it was so silent in the carriage that Sophie could hear the eel slithering around on Hort's skin.

Stomach sinking, she raised her eyes and saw Hort, Willam, and Bogden, gawking down at the book with the same expression, having clearly read along.

"If any of them move, kill them," Rhian ordered the scim on Hort's ear, leaving Hort, Willam, and Bogden trapped in the carriage with the sadistic eel. The second the door closed, Sophie could see the scim start slashing at the boys for sport and Hort fending it off with kicks and punches as the driver moved the carriage down the road and out of sight.

"Sophie!" A voice blared from above.

She raised her head to see a stymph throttling out of the fog through a hail of arrows, a shirtless boy reaching out his hand. To grab her, his face veiled in mist, his hair white as snow….

Rafal?

He ripped through the fog—

No.

Not Rafal.

Time seemed to slow, her heart pumping hot blood, as if it was the first time she'd ever

this boy, even though she'd seen him a thousand times before. Only she'd seen him differently all those times… not like she was now … as a prince who'd patiently saved her again and again and again, until she finally had the sense to notice.

She thrust her hand into the sunlight as he flew down, his hair coated with white rubble, his face and pallid chest streaked in scim wounds, his fingers stretching out to clasp hers—

"Got you!" Hort said, starting to tow her onto his stymph.

Holding him tight, Sophie climbed towards him…

But then she froze cold.

So did Hort, following her eyes.

So did the pirates, who lowered their bows in shock.

High over Camelot's castle , the dissipating fog had congealed into a giant bubble with a girl's face trapped inside of it, levitating like a ghost. The dark-haired girl was magnified as

if reflected by curved glass. Behind her stood an army of students and teachers in the uniforms of Good and Evil, framed by a school crest on the wall. The girl gazed down at Sophie with big, glistening eyes.

"Agatha?" Sophie choked.

But her friend was already vanishing into the sky. " I couldn't free them all," Agatha rasped, pressing her hands against the fading bubble. "There's some left, Sophie. I don't know who. I tried to save them—I tried—"

"Agatha!" Sophie cried.

It was too late. Her best friend had disappeared.

Yet Agathas voice seemed to linger, echoing in Sophie's head….

There's some left.

There's some left.

There's some left.

She felt Hort shake off his daze and clutch her tighter—"Hurry! Get on!" he yelled, yanking her towards his stymph—

Only Sophie's face had changed, her body already pulling away from him. Hort's eyes widened, seeing what was about to happen, but Sophie moved too fast, wrenching her hand out

of his.

"What are you doing!" Hort shrieked.

"I can't," Sophie breathed. "You heard Agatha. There's some left at the castle… they'll die if I leave them behind …"

"We'll come back for them!" Hort retorted, seeing the pirates who'd been watching Agatha suddenly aim arrows at him once more. In front of the castle, Japeth was muscling out of Dot's chocolate swamp. "You have to come with me!" Hort thundered, nosing his stymph towards her. "Now!"

Sophie recoiled. "They're our friends, Hort. My friends."

"Don't be stupid! Get on!" Hort pleaded—

Sophie lit her fingerglow and shot his stymph in the tailbone with a pink flare, sending the bird rocketing forward, just as arrows slashed for Hort's skull. Hort tried to veer back towards Sophie, but his bird ignored him and soared after the other stymphs, as if it knew its duty was to keep its rider safe.

With an anguished cry, Hort looked back at Sophie, tears welling, while his stymph whisked him into the horizon without her. Pirates strung their bows one last time, but their arrow

fell short, snapping against the church tower brick and showering wooden shards over the crowd.

Agatha

A few hours earlier, Agatha stood at the window in Professor Sader's old office—now Hort's office—watching the stymphs fly off to Camelot, the students of Groups #1 and #6 on their backs.

"Three?" Agatha said, mystified.

"Hiya," said a new goo-splotched face, crowding under the cape.

"Hort?" Agatha blurted.

"So I'm sitting in the carriage with Willam and Bogden fending off one of the Snake's eels," said the weasel, "and then what do you know, here come two of my former students, raiding the royal carriage like wild men and stunning the driver with a pretty mediocre spell but giving me just enough time to beat that scim to a puddle, and bang on, we're off and rolling to Camelot. Boys said they're supposed to invade the dungeons alone—that Sophie's old cape wouldn't fit three of us—but no way was I gonna let two first years go without me. I'm a professor. Oh, and Bogden and Willam wanted to come, but those boys are better as lookouts, if you know what I mean."

Bunched under the snakeskin, the three boys barraged the ground with their lit fingerglows, burning holes in the grass. Hort's magic burrowed far faster than the first years, searing through dirt like the sun melting ice, until he hit a solid gray wall. He gave it a kick, hearing a hollow sound and saw specks crumble, as if the wall was exceptionally old or not very sturdy. Then he silently cued the boys and they renewed their glows' assault.

Suddenly a gust of wind swept in, blowing off them. The boys' outlines brightened in Agathas frame. They weren't invisible anymore. Agatha saw a guard on the tower turn—

Hort snatched the cape back down, shielding them once more. "Holy frogballs. Did they see us?"

"I don't know," said Agatha. "Just hurry."

The boys shot their lit fingers harder at the dungeon wall, but this time, Bodhi and Laithan's glow just spurted weak sparks.

"New boys never last long," Princess Uma lamented.

"Easily drained," Professor Sheeks concurred.

Hort glowered at Bodhi and Laithan as he redoubled his glow strength. "And you wanted to do this alone?"

There was another problem now too.

"Hort?" Agatha rasped.

"What."

"My connection's weakening." Hort looked up into the frame and saw what she was seeing: the image in the bubble turning translucent.

"Oh, for Hook's sake," Hort growled.

He redirected his glow onto himself and, with a choked scream, exploded out of his clothes, morphing into a giant man-wolf, nearly evicting the two boys out from under the cape with his girth, before hugging them back under his furred torso like a lion protecting his cubs. Then with the snakeskin hung tight around them, Hort raised two hairy fists and slammed the

wall, once, twice, three times, the last with a roar—

The wall caved in.

Two boys and a man-wolf tumbled down in an implosion of brick, dirt, and grass as Agatha watched, bug-eyed, hearing the confused shouts of distant guards through the crystal and then

latter of alarm bells.

"Um…guys?"

Tedros turned to the man-wolf, head raised on the floor.

Hort pointed with his paw. "They're coming."

All of a sudden, Agatha saw shadows rushing in from every side of the crystal, converging on the dungeons.

"Free the rest!" Tedros cried at Hort, who bounded with the prince down the hall towards the other cells. Bodhi and Laithan lumbered up from the floor, limping after them, but Hort flung them backwards—"Call the stymphs, you fool!"

Hort's roars echoed down the hall, along with the sound of crashing metal.

Out of the corner of her eye, Agatha saw movement through the other colorful glass breezeways that connected the towers of the School for Good: Hester and Professor Anemone leading a group of first years through the blue breezeway to Valor Tower, Hort and Anadil guiding their first years along the yellow tunnel to Purity, and Yuba and Beatrix's group using the peach passage to Charity.

Agatha turned to Hester, spotlit beneath the glittery aquarium in Sophie's ceiling next to Hort, Anadil, Beatrix, Reena, and Kiko, all still caked in rubble from Camelot's dungeons.

"We don't even have enough staphs to get us all out of here," said Hort.

She turned to Hester, Hort, and the others who'd returned, waiting for them to reassure her. To tell her she'd done well. But they said nothing, their faces solemn, as if this was a question with no right answer.

"So did the wolves," Hort retorted. "I'm not a coward, but I know pirates and they fight dirty. Everything about them is dirty. And Rhian has my girlfriend and Sophie and Dovey and Tedros. I know we need to save them. But we also can't rush out of her and die a stupid death. Because then they're really doomed."

Agatha leaned across the windowsill to get a look, but Hort snagged her back.

"That's how my dad died," he glared. "Doing something stupid."

"Rhian would be invincible," said Hort.

Dovey

From inside the sack comes an army—Agatha, Hort, Anadil, Hester, Dot, and more—who dive-bomb the pirates holding the captives onstage.

Hort cuffs him with the rusted collar that leashed Tedros.

Pirates tie up Beatrix, Reena, and Kiko's skunk, while Hort lights up his fingerglow, about to morph into a man-wolf, only to be pummeled by the Elf King of Ladelflop, who shoves him to the ground next to Nicola,, who he's already bound.

Pirates and leaders try to extricate the king from the pile, the Ice Giant leading the efforts, while Tedros, Agatha, Hort, Robin, and others try to wrest Rhian back, their only leverage against a sure death.

Hort, Hester, Nicola, Beatrix, Kiko…My former students too: Guinevere, Robin, the Sheriff…All my Tedroses sprint for the drawbridge, baffling the pirates and leaders, who don't know whether to chase these Tedroses or escape with them.

Agatha

Everyone was here: Hester, Anadil, Dot, Hort, Nicola, Robin, Guinevere, the Sheriff, and more… all her friends, who'd escaped from the battle at Camelot, now safe in Gnomeland…

"Even me, who doesn't really like you," said Hort. (to Agatha)

Nicola shunted him aside, joining the hug.

Tedros

"Where are Hort and Nicola?" The cat said.

"Here!" said Hort, clasping Nicola's hand.

"You two will go to Foxwood, where Rhian claims to be from," said Reaper. "Find out what you can about him and his brother's history."

"Consider it done," Hort said, winking at Nicola. "History's what I do."

"God help us," said Nicola.

"Why is your cat ignoring me?" Tedros whispered to Agatha. "I'm the king. I'm the one he's trying to get back on the throne. And he's giving key missions to Hort?"

Hort nudged Beatrix on the way out. "How do we share information while we're in different places?"

"Professor Anemone has Agatha's old courier crow from Camelot. We can use it to send messages," said Beatrix.

"Not secure enough," said Hort. "What we need is a squirrelly nut."

Agatha

Slowly the step broke apart and they saw Sophie gaping at them.

"I have to get in with them?" She said.

"You took a steam bath with Hort," said Tedros.

"That was espionage," Sophie defended.

"And this is to save the world," Agatha retorted. "Get in."

Hort

Hort tried to ignore the posters, but it was impossible when there was one pinned to every single orange tea lining the Rue du Palais.

Kids their age in prim Foxwood School uniforms loitered by the trees, just out of school, guzzling glass bottles of orange soda and sharing gummy chews and sugar sticks.

"How we supposed to tell one of those School of Good and Evil stiffs from a sorry sop on the street?" asked a red-haired boy, inspecting the poster.

"They got that glowing finger," said a girl, reapplying lipstick in a pocket mirror. "The one they use for spells."

"For sixty gold smacks, I'll make my own finger glow and turn myself in," a dark-skinned boy said, eyeing Hort as he passed.

Hort picked up his pace. The boy was right. For sixty gold pieces, Hort would turn in his own mother. (If he knew who his mother was. Anytime he'd asked his dad, he'd got a grumble or a slap.) Hort glanced at his girlfriend, walking with him, expecting her to be just as alarmed by the high price on their heads.

"The boys in this kingdom are all so handsome," Nicola marveled at the well-dressed crowd on the Rue du Palais, Foxwood's tree-lined thoroughfare of shops, inns, and pubs, leading up to the king's palace. There seemed to be a uniform here, even for non-students: women wore solid dresses in a spectrum of colors, while men wore tailored suits in the same unpatterned shades. The sum effect made Hort feel like he was at a paint shop, trying to pick the perfect hue. Nicola ogled two passing boys, muscles barely contained by their suits. "Seriously, every single one looks like a prince.

You can have em," Hort grumbled, picking at his new blue pants wedged up his bottom. "Foxwood is known for good-looking blokes, who are boring, brown nosing, and can't

themselves. Just take Kei and Chaddick. Both from Foxwood, both pretty-faced sidekicks, working for twits. Nic, there's a lot of people here. Maybe we should wait until dark—"

"Tedros is not a twit and Chaddick is dead. Have some respect," Nicola chided, walking faster in her new beige dress.

"And we cant wait until dark because we need to get inside the Foxwood School for Boys and look for Rhian's files. Rhian told Tedros he was a student there."

"But Merlin tried already and couldn't find any files for Rhian," Hort pointed out, itching at his hair. "I say we poison the Foxwood king instead. Robin said he was the first coward to burn his ring, plus if we kill him, no one can pay the sixty gold pieces for our heads."

"We are not killing a king who has nothing to do with our mission," Nicola retorted. "Reaper told us to find out about Rhian and his brother's past. And Rhian told Tedros he was a student in Arbed House. We have to at least check it out."

"I thought Rhian went to the Foxwood School for Boys."

"Arbed House is in the Foxwood School for Boys. lt's a dormitory," Nicola said impatiently. "Didn't Tedros explain all this to you?"

"Tedros and I had a conversation once," said Hort. "I spent the whole time farting silently, hoping it might suffocate him."

Nicola side-eyed him, "Arbed House is where parents in Foxwood hide their children who they fear are Evil. So Evil they're afraid the School Master might kidnap them. No parent here wants a famous villain as a child. So Dean Brunhilde magically conceals these wayward children from the School Master so he never knows they exist. The Dean doesn't tell her Arbed kids they're Evil, though. Does her best to turn their souls Good." Nicola paused. "Clearly she failed with Rhian"

"If Rhian was her student at all," Hort reminded. "No files remember?"

"Kei was a student in Arbed House too. So was Aric. And we know Japeth and Aric were close friends," said Nicola. "Look, I know it's a stretch, but it's worth a shot. All we have to do is find Dean Brunhilde and ask if she knows Rhian."

"Can we trust her?"

"Merlin and I talked before he was captured. He told me Dean Brunhilde was a friend of his. If she's a friend of Merlin, then she's a friend of ours—"

A gorgeous black boy reading the latest edition of the Foxwood Forum grinned at Nicola as she passed. Nicola smiled back.

"This is why Nevers only date Nevers," Hort crabbed, scratching his hair harder. "Nevers don't flirt with boys on the street and they don't turn down the chance to kill a king."

Ten minutes ago, you were kissing me in the fitting room of Le Bon Marché and now you're acting like I forced you to be my boyfriend," said Nicola, noticing Hort clawing at his head. "Ugh, I told you not to mess with it. The point was to blend in. Robin gave each group ten gold pieces to spend and I used less than one to buy this dress so I'd look like a Foxwood girl. And you not only choose a suit that costs nine gold pieces, but then you go and do…" She pointed at his hair. "... that."

"Well, you're a first-year Reader who no one knows, but I'm famous," Hort insisted, itching his dyed, bright blond hair and walking tall in a Spiffy prince-blue suit. "Everyone knows me from Sophie and Agatha's storybook. I had to change my look"

"You look like vampire Tedros, said Nicola. "Vampire Tedros with lice."

Hort scowled. "I look like a Foxwood boy and I blend in here better than you!"

A group of kids sidled up to him. The same ones he'd seen by the tree.

"What are you like?" Lipstick Girl sniggered, pawing his suit.

"Like a cream puff gone bad," said the redheaded boy, ruffling Hort's hair.

"Or one of those knobs from that school...," said the dark boy, peering at him.

Someone kicked Hort in the backside.

Hort's finger glowed blue, about to fire at their heads—

Nicola seized Hort's hand, obscuring it. "Excuse me, is this right way to the palace?" she asked the bullies. "We have an appointment with the king. My father's his Minister of . . . Poutine. What are your names? I'll be sure to mention your kindness to him."

The kids gave each other anxious looks and dispersed like flies.

Hort exhaled, knowing he'd been one second from giving himself away and ending up back in Rhian's hands.

"Thanks," he sighed to Nicola. " You saved me."

"Saved us. Because thats what Evers do," she said tugging at his blond bangs. "Even if their Never boyfriend looks like a cockatoo."

Hort puffed at his hair. "What's a Minister of Poutine?"

Nicola nodded at a sign, hanging outside a shop.

POUTINE PUB

Best Cheesy Potatoes in Town!

"Can we stop inside?" Hort asked.

"No," said Nicola.

Hort took her hand.

With her ebony skin and festoon of curls, Nicola didn't resemble Sophie in the slightest, the only girl Hort had ever loved before, but Nic and Sophie both had a supreme confidence and wicked humor, neither of which Hort possessed. Is that why he liked them? Is that why you like anybody? Because they have what you don't? Or was it that Nicola appreciated him when he was scrawny or pimply or in a bad mood while other girls—girls like Sophie—only paid attention when he was pumped with muscle and playing the rebel to Tedros' prince? Maybe that was it, Hort thought: Nicola reminded him of Sophie, with her wit and moxie and charm, without all

the bad parts of Sophie. And yet, the bad parts of Sophie were why he'd liked Sophie in the first place, just like Nicola didn't mind the bad parts of him.

"We turn left on Rue de l'Ecole, right before the palace gates," said Nicola.

Ahead of them, more students in Foxwood School uniforms came onto Rue du Palais, buzzing and dispersing into cliques. A few joined the packed crowd at a tent selling Lion merchandise: coins, pins, mugs, hats in tribute to King Rhian. Hort remembered the same Lion mementos worn by the people outside the Blessing, from kingdoms around the Woods. They must be selling this stuff everywhere, he thought.

"School just got out. Hurry!" said Nicola, pushing Hort past the tent. "We need to find Dean Brunhilde."

A smatter of young schoolboys pooled in front of the palace gates, tossing candy crumbs at pigeons idling on gold-paved stone inside. A palace guard butted the boys aside with the hilt

of his sword and they ran off, whimpering.

"Turn here," said Nicola, hooking left at a corner.

But Hort's eyes were still on the guard, manning the gates with a second one, the two of them in shiny new armor, swords at the ready.

"Nic, look at their armor," Hort whispered.

Nicola peered at a familiar Lion crest carved into the steel breastplates. "Odd. Why would Foxwood guard be wearing Camelot armo—"
Hort yanked her behind a wall.

"What?" Nicola gasped. "What is it?"

Hort peeked an eye out and Nicola peeped over his shoulder at the two guard's faces, sunlit through their open helmets.

Not guards.

Pirates.

And one of them was glaring right at the corner they'd just turned from.

"Ya see somethin'?" Aran asked, a pigeon pecking at his boot.

"Coulda sworn I saw one of 'em Tedros-lovin' freaks. The weasel-face," said Beeba. "But his hair's gone yellow."

"They're killing people, Hort. They're killing princesses and blaming it on us," Nicola breathed as Hort dragged her away from the palace and down Rue de I'?cole, weaving through groups of school children. "Rhian's willing to murder innocent people to make rulers destroy their rings!"

"We need proof. That Rhian isn't who he says he is. And we need it now," Hort fumed. "Proof we can show the people. Which means we're not leaving this kingdom until we find it."

He pulled Nicola along, trying to convince himself that they could succeed where Merlin had failed …that they could expose Rhian and take him down . . . that they could save this fairy tale from a very wrong end…

But as the Foxwood School for Boys came into view, a gray stone cathedral draped in silhouette, Hort saw a tall woman in a turban blocking its doors, her arms crossed, the whites of her eyes glowing through the shadow, locking on the two strangers walking towards her.

And suddenly Hort didn't feel very convinced at all.

UP CLOSE, THE woman in a rose-pink turban and robes had tan skin with deep lines around the mouth, chilly brown eyes, and brows so thin and arched it gave her a permanently suspicious expression.

"We're looking for Dean Brunhilde," said Hort, lowering his voice to sound more imposing "Is she in?"

The woman crossed her arms tighter. The only sounds were the snip, snip of a gardener, pruning the hedges next to the stairs, and the slup, slup of a cleaner on a ladder, scrubbing the school's gray stone.

"Dean Brunhilde of Arbed House," Nicola clarified.

Snip, snip. Slup, slup.

Hort cleared his throat. "Um . . ."

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked.

"Well—" Nicola started.

"I'm the Headmistress of this school and seeing a Dean requires an appointment," the woman cut in. "Particularly for children from other kingdoms, pretending to look like they belong in this one. What school do you attend? Are you even Evers?"

Hort and Nicola exchanged glances, unsure whose turn it was to lie.

"We've had a string of attacks in Foxwood. The whole Woods is under assault by rebels. Good people have died," the woman said, hot with emotion. "The king has ordered all citizens to report suspicious activity to the Camelot guards—"

"Now you're sounding like Aunt Grisella, Cedric sighed, brushing by Hort and Nicola, hugging his brother to his side.

"Maybe we'll pick up a meat pie on the way home." He peeked back at his mother. "If Father's making supper."

A smile cracked through the woman's hard features as she watched her two sons go, her eyes softening, then turning mournful. She noticed Hort and Nicola still standing there and her imperious stiffness returned.

She frowned suddenly and swiveled towards the school steps, the door still open at the top, just as she'd left it.

But Hort and Nicola were no longer there.

"Did you hear what that man said? He called her Mistress Gremlaine," Nicola whispered as they scurried through the entrance hall of school, Hort peeping back nervously to make sure the woman wasn't following them.

"So what?" Hort said, lost in the maze of musty corridors and spiral staircases. "How do we know which one goes to the dorms—"

"So what? Lady Gremlaine was Tedros' steward at Camelot!" Nicola reminded him. "Suppose this Gremlaine's related to her!"

"Doesn't help us get Rhian off the throne, so stop playing Detective Nic and start looking for a way to Arbed House," said Hort, peering into deserted classrooms, reeking of sweat and mildew. He sneezed, his eyes watering from the veils of dust. On the outside, the Foxwood School for Boys looked like an cathedral, the hedges pruned, the gray stone polished, but on the inside it felt like a decrepit church, the floorboard creaking, the walls covered in mold, and cracked plaques offering dubious advice: "HEADS UP AND FALL IN LINE": "FOLLOW

THE LEADER" "RULES ARE THE SPICE OF LIFE." Growing up, he'd thought of Foxwood as obscenely rich, given its steel trade, but clearly none of that wealth was going towards boys'

education. Even the old schoolhouse in Bloodbrook , the poorest realm in the Woods, was in better shape. It's what he hated about Evers, Hort thought, recalling the workers sprucing up the school's facade: so much of being Good was a show. You had to rip away the surface, past the Beautification lessons and noble intentions, to find out who an Ever really was. At least Nic wasn't like that, he thought, as his girlfriend towed him to the end of the hall. Nic was more like a Never: too much herself to ever be able to hide it.

Turning a corner, they were hit with sunlight from a scummy stained glass window, illuminating another plaque over their heads: "LOYALTY OVER BOLDNESS."

"No wonder every boy in this town becomes a sidekick," Hort muttered.

A door slammed somewhere close.

Sharp heels clacked on stone.

Hort's stomach flipped. He pulled at Nicola's arm, guiding her towards a staircase ahead, but Nic resisted, her eyes pinned through the stained glass.

A redbrick, two-story cottage lay in the yard outside, apart from the rest of the school, surrounded by clean, neat grass.

Hort glimpsed a sign on a stake in front of it:

PERMITTED STUDENTS ONLY

And in the corner of the sign, a signature…

Dean Brunhilde

"Let me do the talking," Nicola whispered as Hort followed her into the foyer.

"You're a Reader. I know how to talk to real people," Hort rebuffed.

"And I'm the one who knows how to get what we need, so just smile and look pretty like the blond prince you are," Nicola ordered. "And don't touch anything."

Hort was certainly temped to. From the moment they'd come into the cottage, met with a clean breeze through the open windows, it was as if they'd left the school and stepped into Mother Gooses den. Cozy patterned rugs covered the floor, appointed with rocking chairs and soft couches. Potted lilies and fiddle trees bloomed near a spiral staircase, the bookcases behind it teeming with storybooks, Hort fingered a heavy blanket on the couch, furry and soft. He could feel his eyes closing. All he wanted to do was gorge on cheesy potatoes and hide under the blanket. The lighting wasn't helping: a sleepy orange glow seeping from dozens of glass-cased candles.

Then Hort noticed the picture frames, peppered across the tables and mantel. In every portrait, there was a stout, dark-skinned woman with beehive hair posed with a group of boys.

Hort bent over, peering at more of these portraits. In each one, the boys changed but the woman remained, presiding over a new group.

Dean Brunhilde, Hort thought, moving to the last portrait on the mantel….

His stomach dropped.

He picked up the frame—

Nicola slapped his hand. Then she saw what he was looking at and snatched it from him.

In the picture, Dean Brunhilde stood with a class of eight boys, all teenagers. Four weren't familiar. But the other four were, huddled in the corner with mischievous grins, like a band of thieves.

A boy with angled eyes and a square jaw.

Kei.

A boy with violet eyes, spiky black hair, and sculpted muscles.

Aric.

A boy with copper hair, pale skin, and cold blue eyes.

Japeth

And next to him . . . a boy with the same face.

Rhian

Slowly Hort and Nicola looked at each other.

Rhian had told the truth.

He'd been here.

They'd all been here.

In this house.

This is where it began.

Chills swept up Hort's spine—

"You must be lost," said a voice, and Hort jumped out of his skin.

A boy in a school uniform came out of the next room, fourteen or fifteen with black hair, sunken eyes, and misshapen teeth, wielding a fistful of steak knives.

Nicola recoiled, bumping into Hort, who shoved the portrait behind his back.

"No one comes to Arbed House unless they're lost," said a younger boy, emerging next to the first, clutching forks and spoons. "Or if they want to steal our tea. We have the best assam, rose, tulsi, eucalyptus, licorice, cardamom, chamomile…."

"Arjun and I are seting the table for dinner before the rest of the boys get back," the older one cut in. "I can show you to Mistress Gremlaine's office—"

"NO," blurted their two guests.

Nicola cleared her throat. "We have an appointment with Dean Brunhilde."

"Its important," Hort added.

Nicola gave him a look. Let me handle it, it said.

But Hort was on edge. That portrait spooked him. Something happened in this house. Something that made Rhian, Japeth, Kei, and Aric band together and become killers. The

answer was here. And they had to find i .

"The Dean isn't in," said the older boy.

"Took the others to buy pins from the market," the younger boy prattled, a ball of baby fat. "She loves those pins. Been giving them to us as a reward. To keep us doing good deeds. Emilio and I already got ours."

"Our guests don't need every detail of our lives, Arjun," Emilio sighed, looking back at Hort and Nicola. "I'll tell the Dean you came by."

"We'll wait for her outside," said Hort, heading for the door, anxious to talk to his girlfriend alone—

Nicola yanked him back by his collar and Hort squawked. "Actually, we'll wait for her here," she said.

Hort looked at Nicola, confused.

Emilio frowned. "I'm not sure when she'll be ba—"

"Oooh, they can help us make supper!" Arjun said excitedly. "Girls are good at cooking!"

Hort could see Nicola gritting her teeth.

"Arjun, that wouldn't be appropriate," said Emilio.

"But we never get company! Rest of the school thinks we're Evil!" Arjun insisted, turning to Hort." You know, cause we're separate from 'em and live at the school instead of going home

to our parents. But we know the truth: that we're the best souls. That's why our parents sent us to Dean for training—"

"Mind if I ask your names?" Emilio asked, appraising his guests.

Hort answered: "Oh, we're two friends of Merl—"

Nicola pinched him and Hort bit back a yelp.

Then he saw it.

On the two boys lapels.

Their pins for doing good deeds.

Lion pins.

Hort's heart stopped. Nicola's clammy hand grazed his.

"She loves those pins…"

Dean Brunhilde might have been a friend of Merlins once.

But not anymore.

Because Dean Brunhilde was clearly on King Rhian's side.

"So?" Emilio asked, his eyes sharpening.

"Yes?" Hort squeaked like a rat.

"Who are you?" Emilio repeated, colder this time.

"Oh, my boyfriend's a former student of the Dean's," said Nicola smoothly, nodding at Hort. "Must have graduated just before you started. Now working as a guard fox King Rhian.

We've come to surprise her with the news,"

"I thought you said you had an appointment," Arjun pipped.

"We do," said Nicola, smoothing her dress, "but the news is a surprise. Apologies, but it's been a long journey and I need to sit down. We'll just wait in the Dean's office until she returns."

Emilio bristled. "I don't think that's—"

"She'll be thankful you took good care of us. Don't worry, keep on with supper duty and we'll show ourselves there," said Nicola, scooting past the staircase towards the hall.

"But her office is on the second floor!" said Arjun.

"Of course it is," said Nicola, turning on her heel, Hort scurrying up the steps behind her.

Found them, Hort breathed, scavenging through a cabinet, pulling out stacks of leather-bound files and spreading them on the floor, soot spiking off the covers. "Labeled by name, but not in any order."

Rhian would have been a student recently. Maybe he's at the top,"said Nicola, seated at the Dean's desk, picking through her papers.

They'd found Dean Brunhilde's office at the end of the hall, but they hadn't anticipated what a mess it would be: book and notes everywhere, drained mugs with soggy tea bags, vases

of flowers that had been dead for years, and a pervasive layer of dust that fogged up the room. How can a Dean be so squalid? Then Hort remembered his own dad, who was so busy taking care of other pirates that his personal quarters were a wreck. Kneeling on the floor, Hort rifled through the files, searching the labels for Rhian's name: ATTICUS . . . GAEL . . . THANASI . . . LUCAS . . . MISCHA . . . KEI . . .

"DEAR MERLIN—"

Hort wheeled in shock and saw Nicola leap at a brown chestnut bouncing around the desk like a jumping bean, the two sides of the nut flapping open as it spoke: "I'VE TRIED

TO SEND THIS MESSAGE SEVERAL TIMES —"

Hort lunged for the nut, swiped it into one hand, and crushed the two sides shut, silencing it.

He and Nic stood frozen, listening to the hallway through the closed door.

It remained quiet.

"What is that?" Nic whispered, pointing at Horts hand.

"A squirrelly nut," said Hort. "Safer than a letter, because there' s no paper trail. Squirrel delivers the message and eats the nut, so there's no evidence it was ever sent. My dad got them

from Hook all the time."

"That message was for Merlin. We need to hear it!" Nicola insisted. "How do we play it softer?"

"Whole point of a squirrelly nut is the message can't be preserved " said Hort, "If you try to open it with your hands, it plays at twenty times the volume, which lets everyone know the recipient is a cheat. Only way to open the message without a squirrel is to do it the way a squirrel does. Like this ."

He raised the chestnut like a magician about to do a magic trick and popped it in his mouth. The woody edges chafed against his cheeks, but the nut slid open and a warm bubble of air floated out and pressed against his throat. He closed his eyes and someone else's words and voice came out of him in a low, hushed tone.

The nut went spongy in Hort's mouth and dissolved down his throat, sweet and earthy.

He opened his eyes.

"His files aren't here, then," said Nicola, panicked. "She moved them. Somewhere we won't find them." She grabbed Hort's wrist. "We have to leave before she comes back!"

"Wait," said Hort , kneeling down to the files on the floor.

He picked up the one labeled: KEI. "Just because Rhian's files aren't here, doesn't mean we can't find something in one of his friends.

He pulled open the leather folder as Nicola dropped next to him. Hort read the first page of notes.

Hort moved to the next page.

Hort bit his lip. So Rhian had known that he was Camelot king when he was at school. Only no one at school believed him, except Kei. So why had Kei and Rhian become estranged? Had Kei stopped believing Rhian? Only to later return to Rhian's side? That would explain Rhian's comment to his captain at the castle, when Kei failed to catch Agatha: "But if you're going to be the weak link, especially after I took you back…"

Was that also why Dean Brunhilde believed Rhian's soul was Good? Because she'd ignored his "delusions," only to be proven wrong?

Maybe that's why Rhian was sent to Arbed House in the first place. Because he insisted to his parents that he was King Arthur's heir … Because they thought him delusional, like the Dean did …But then where was Japeth in all this?

"Hort." Nicola said.

He turned and saw her holding a file labeled: ARIC.

Hort moved to the next page, the writing more scratchy and frantic.

"Who's RJ?" Hort asked. " I though you said Aric was friends with Japeth."

"Japeth is RJ's middle name," said Nicola.

"How do you know?" said Hort.

Nicola held up a faded envelope.

Hort's palms dampened the parchment. He didnt know why Arics letter bothered him. Maybe it was a sadistic monster sounding like he had feelings. Or maybe it was that line—"I

attacked your brother" and its suggestion that Rhian's and Japeth's history was about more than the two twins, that there'd been a boy between them, a boy who was now a ghost.

Hort glanced edgily at his girlfriend.

"Told you they were friends," said Nicola.

"This sounds a whole lot closer than friends," said Hort.

Voices echoed outside. The sounds of boys laughing, singing.

Hort sprung up. From the Dean's window, he could see them walking across the grass towards the cottage: eight boys led by Dean Brunhilde.

Hort and Nicola gaped at each other, then at the mess they'd made on the floor. No time to clean it up. And no way to get out of this house without being caught.

"Come on!" Nicola said, pulling Hort out of the room and into the hall.

Nicola shoved Hort into a dark bathroom, the two of them barreling for the window as boots surged onto their floor. Hort counted to three with his fingers: on cue, both his and Nicola's fingertips glowed, so brightly it spilled into the hall. Dean Brunhilde swung into the bathroom, steak knife raised—

"The last thing she saw was a black sparrow and a blond-headed squirrel leap out of the window, two pairs of colorful clothes floating down behind them.

THE HOUSE WAS easy enough to find, once Nicola's sparrow wiped a map of Foxwood from a market stall on the Rue du Palais, while Hort's squirrel bounded along the street beneath.

"62 Stropshire Road. That's the same address Rhian gave Dovey when she asked where he lived," Hort called to the sparrow after they'd made it to a quiet street. "Remember? Dovey questioned him when we were on the Igraine. He told us his parents' names too. Levya and Rosalie."

"Rosamund." said Nicola.

"Even as a bird , you're a know-it-all," Hort sighed.

Stropshire Road was on the outer bands of the Foxwood Vales, so peaceful and still that Hort could hear Nicola's wings flutter as she drifted down to meet him in front of Rhian and

Japeth's old home. There was nothing special about the one level cottage, perched in between other cottages that looked exactly the same. Shadows moved across the closed curtains, suggesting someone was inside. But first there was the matter of clothes, a problem that was solved by the squirrel and sparrow probing houses on an adjacent road until they found an unlocked window, snuck inside, and raided the closets. A few minutes later, dressed like average Foxwood folk, Hort ard Nicola knocked on the door of House 62, and flashed polite smiles when it opened.

A sweet-looking lady peeked out with gold-rimmed glasses. She had a Lion coin on a necklace around her neck. " Can I help you?"

"You must be Rosamund?" said Nicola.

"Y-y-yes," the lady answered, surprised.

"Lovely to meet you," said Nicola. "We're from the Foxwood Forum."

"Doing a story on King Rhian's childhood," said Hort.

"Since you're his mother, we thought we'd start with you," said Nicola.

"You must be very proud," Hort smiled. "Mind if we come in?"

Rosamund blinked. "Oh , . . I'm a-a-afraid there must be a mistake? I'm not King Rhian's mother."

Hort stared at her. " But King Rhian gave us your address—"

"Oh. He did? " Rosamund hesitated. "Well …it was a long time ago. I suppose there's no harm in telling you now. Especially if the king gave permission. This was back when he was a boy. We had an arrangement with Rhian's mother when Elle lived across the street. In House Number 63. She told Levya and I that she'd come to Foxwood to hide from the boys' father. We could save her life by telling anyone who might ask that her boys were ours instead. Clearly Elle didn't want the boys' father to find her or his sons. Understandable, of course, now that I know she was raising the future king and liege of Camelot."

"You said her name was Elle?" Hort asked.

"That's the name she gave me," said Rosamund. "But she was very private. I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't her real name."

"How long did she live here?" Nicola pressed.

"Ten years, maybe? From the last months of her pregnancy until she sent the boys off to school. Then she left and I never saw her again. It's been ages."

"And what did Elle look like?" Hort hounded.

"Tall, thin, dark hair. Lovely mouth and eyebrows. The last time I saw her at least," said Rosamund. "Wish I could help, but she told me hardly anything about herself or the boys

and they rarely left the house."

Hort glanced at Nicola, reading her face. Tall, thin, dark hair . . . Elle sounded a lot like Tedros' steward. Lady Gremlaine, Hort remembered.

He suddenly thought of something Mistress Gremlaine's son said to her before he took his brother to the park: "Now you're sounding like Aunt Grisella…"

Grisella , Hort thought.

Ella.

Elle.

Lady Gremlaine must have raised the boys here in secret and put them in Arbed House before she returned to work in Camelot's castle.

"You said Elle lived in Number 63?" Nicola asked, turning back to Rosamund.

"Right there," the woman nodded, pointing at a house across the street. "Been empty for a long time now. Nothing to see at all."

A FEW MINUTES later, once Rosamund had gone back into her house, Hort and Nicola were already inside Number 63.

It had been easy to break in, given the state of the house's doors: waterlogged and splintered, the locks long broken. But the mission was a futile one. There was little left inside: no

furniture, no clothes, no junk or trash or crumbs of food. The walls and floors had been bleached or repainted, even the ceiling, if Grisella Gremlaine had wanted to leave no trace of her or the family that lived there.

"She was right," Hort sighed, leaning against a closet door. "Nothing here."

They heard voices outside and Nicola peered out the window to see three Foxwood guards in red uniforms coming down the road, knocking on each house, holding up crude sketches of her and Hort to the occupants.

Nicola's finger glowed. "Let's go," she said, mogrifying into a sparrow and hopping out of her puddle of clothes, towards the door.

Hort closed his eyes , fingertip glowing blue, about to morph into a squirrel and follow Nic out—

But then he heard something;

A strange sound.

Coming from the closet in front of him.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Hort opened his eyes.

More rustling. More tapping.

Against the back of the door.

His skin went cold.

Leave, his body told him. Leave now.

Hort moved towards the closet.

"What are you doing?" Nic's sparrow hissed. "They'll catch us!"

But Hort's hand was already reaching out, his heart vibrating in his chest, as his sweaty palm curled around the knob and pulled it open—

A single blue butterfly flung out from inside, skeletal, dried up, flying madly around Hort's head with one last rush of life…

Then it fell at his feet, dead.

Agatha

"It has everything to do with that Sader woman," said a weaselly voice behind them.

They turned to see two gnome guards and Reaper usher in a shock-blond boy Agatha didn't recognize—

Her eyes flared.

Hort.

But that wasn't the surprise.

He was holding something in his open palm.

A butterfly.

A blue butterfly.

Agatha glimpsed Tedros' face, denial giving way to horror.

Agatha, Hort, and the former queen sat in pained silence, the prince's absence palpable.

"Elle was the name she used in Foxwood, when she raised Rhian and Japeth in secret," said Hort, eyeing the bowls of snacks but dissuaded by the moment. "I thought Elle was for the 'el' in Grisella Gremlaine. Thought it was proof Lady Gremlaine was Rhian and Japeth's mother. Except there's an 'el' in Evelyn too."

Hort looked uneasy without his girlfriend there, but Nicola and Reaper had gone with two gnome guards. To retrieve Kiko, who Nicola and Hort had found badly stunned in the Woods.

When Agatha reached the moment where Evelyn hooked the spaniel around sleeping Arthur's neck, Tedros thrust out his palm, stopping her, and fled the room without a word, leaving Agatha alone with his mother and Hort.

The silence thickened now, Guinevere's face a death mask. Hort peeked at Agatha, expecting her to comfort the old queen. But the truth left no room for comfort.

"What happened at dinner?" Hort asked. (To Guinevere)

"Whatever we do, it has to be soon," Hort warned. "When Reaper let us in, a message arrived for him from Yuba, coded in Gnome. The first years and teachers are safe. But there's only three swans left in the Storian's carving. Or was it four. My Gnome is awful. Just a few rings that haven't been burned, then. And Japeth has the Sheriff's…"

"And so la-di-da The End? Leave a pig on the throne?" Hort scorned. "If your dad gave you that message, it wasn't to stop you from fighting! It was to make you fight back!" (To Tedros)

Hort cleared his throat. "Look, not that I'm afraid to dig up a grave, since Nevers do that kinda thing on Friday nights, but having waited my whole life for my dad to get a proper grave, shoveling up Tedros' doesn't seem right to me. Plus there's no way we can get to Avalon to unbury him. Whole Woods is hunting us and the Snake is on the loose. Nic and I barely escaped Foxwood alive."

"On top of all that, my father's coffin is guarded by Merlin's spell to prevent people like us Fromm desecrating it. Only Merlin can unlock it," said Tedros, relieved by all these obstacles. His mother and Hort murmured their agreement.

"What happened!" Hort asked, but his girlfriend was already diving back through the waterfall. Hort chased after her, and Agatha and Tedros followed close behind with Guinevere, all of them bounding through the magical curtain, into the foyer, where Subby and his banged-up rickshaw awaited, its cart now stamped with dozens of stickers of Sophie's face, X'ed out with the warning: "BAD BHOOT!"

Agatha jumped over the chain, as did Tedros and the others, and they scuttled up the stairs, with Hort tripping on the tiny, cobwebbed planks, nearly taking down the entire group before they reached the top—

Agatha, Tedros, Hort, and Guinevere gathered around him, each taking a sliver of the eyepiece.

"Rhian becomes the One True King," said Hort. "Rhian becomes the Storian. Sophie said it would happen at the wedding. Which means in two days, he has the power to write anything he wants and make it come true. In two days—"

"Guess I should put on my grave-robbin' boots," she heard Hort murmur.

"Told you we should have gone through the Stymph Forest," Hort groused to Nicola in their coop. "Fastest way to Avalon. And we wouldn't have gotten caught!"

"Skirting the coastline was the safest plan," Nicola argued, her voice masked by the camel's grunts as Ajubaju smacked it with a stick. "We were nearly to the Lady of the Lake. If we hadn't passed those docks just as the Shazabah ship came in…"

"Or if Tedros' other hadn't barreled straight into the beaver," Hort whispered.

"It was dark," Guinevere sighed.

The camel tripped over a headstone, launching the old queen across her cage—"

Tedros caught her in his arms. He glowered at Hort. "You're looking for someone to blame. I'm looking for a way out. Difference between a boy and a man."

Hort grumbled, glancing away.

"That's where my dad's buried. Vulture Vale," Agatha heard Hort whisper to Nicola. "Not Necro Ridge or anything, but decent enough. School Master got my dad a proper burial. Only nice thing that bastard ever did."

"Must have wanted something from you in return," said his girlfriend.

"Not even. Said he understood the bond between father and son. That one day he'd have a son with his true love," Hort replied. "Gave me the creeps. His true love was Sophie."

Tedros, Hort, Nicola, and Guinevere gaped at her.

The camel bashed Tedros' cage against a headstone, then Hort's cage against another, freeing the prisoners.

"What just happened?" Hort rasped, shaking wood out of his pants.

"Who is it?" Nicola asked. "Who are they burying?"

"I can't see," said Hort, leaning further over the tomb—

He knocked into the wreath and it spun away, smacking into an adjacent headstone.

Kei swiveled in their direction—

Hort plastered to the ground.

"He saw me," the weasel croaked. "Definitely saw me."

Hort, Guinevere, and Nicola caught up and jolted at the sight of Rhian in the Snake's grave.

"Um, this can't be good," said Hort.

"Or they're dead," murmured Hort. (about the Coven)

Tedros

Guinevere pulled Hort and Nicola away from the shore; Tedros could hear his mother screaming his name, but he was sucking in a wad of breath and ducking underwater, glimpsing Agatha as she seized the Lady of the Lake's hand and touched it to the glowing crystal ball, the two of the evaporating inside the portal.