A Crystal of Time. Soman Chainani
to the ground below. “What are you doing he—”
Then she saw Maid Marian climbing into the treehouse behind her professor.
“Emma and I were classmates at school,” Marian explained. “I sent her a crow the moment you came to Marian’s Arrow. I knew Robin and his men wouldn’t help you the way you needed. But the least I could do was find you someone who could.”
Professor Anemone rushed forward and pulled Agatha into an embrace. “The faculty’s been searching for you ever since we heard what happened. You have to understand: Clarissa kept us in the dark. Spent all her time cooped up in her office with her Quest Map and that crystal ball. She must have thought that if the teachers knew what was happening in the Woods, then the first years would find out something had gone wrong on your quests. She wouldn’t have wanted them to worry or be distracted from their work. Always thinking of her students, even at her own expense . . . Her office is still locked no matter what spells we do on it and we can’t get a hold of her Quest Map; that’s why we couldn’t find you. . . .”
Agatha teared up. She thought she’d been alone this whole time, when instead, her old teachers had been looking for her. For the briefest of moments, she felt safe again like she once had in their glass castle. “You don’t know what we’re up against, Professor. This is Evil like we’ve never seen. Evil that you don’t teach in your classes. The Lion and the Snake are working together. They have the whole Woods on their side. And we have no one on ours.”
“Yes, you do,” said Professor Anemone, pulling away and staring hard at her charge. “You see, Clarissa might believe in sheltering students, but neither I nor the rest of the teachers do. Which means the king might have the whole Woods on his side, but you have something far stronger on yours. Something that has outlasted any king. Something that has always restored the balance between Good and Evil, even in the darkest of times. Something that was born to win this fight.”
Agatha looked up at her.
Professor Anemone leaned in, her eyes glittering. “My dear Agatha . . . you have a school.”
Tedros imagined it was Rhian that they were beating.
That’s how he’d survived the pirates.
Every stomping kick they’d given him, every brass-knuckled punch, every full-force blow gushing blood from his lip or eye, Tedros mentally redirected at the traitor who sat upon his throne. The friend who turned out to be his worst enemy. His loyal knight who turned out to be neither loyal nor a knight.
Now, curled up in his cell, Tedros could hear the scum’s voice resounding down the hall, magically amplified by whatever hocus-pocus his friends were doing in their own cell. Acid rage burnt his chest. It was like they were broadcasting Rhian’s voice just to taunt him.
“Was he telling the truth?” he yelled.
Tedros’ voice echoed into the hall.
“About Sophie wanting me dead? Was that the truth?”
He’d thought Sophie was on his side this time . . . that his friendship with her was finally real . . .
But he didn’t know what was real anymore. Maybe Sophie had conspired with Rhian on all of this. Or maybe she’d been scammed by him too.
Tedros’ face grew hotter.
He’d welcomed Rhian like a brother. Brought him into Camelot. Told him his secrets.
He’d practically handed the pig his crown.
Tedros could taste the anger now, foaming in his throat.
Agatha was right.
He’d been a bad king. Cowardly. Arrogant. Foolish.
When Agatha had told Sophie this last night, he’d been cut to the bone. Betrayed by the only girl he’d ever loved. It had made him doubt her the way she doubted him.
But in the end, she was right. She always was.
And now, in the most fitting of ironies, the same girl who called him a bad king was the sole person who could help him win back his throne.
Because Agatha was the only one who’d managed to escape Rhian’s hands.
The pirates had revealed this by accident. They’d beaten him relentlessly, the gang of six reeking thugs, demanding to know where Agatha had fled. At first, his relief that she’d escaped numbed the pain of their blows. But then the relief wore off. Where was she? Was she safe? Suppose they found her? Riled by his silence, the pirates had only beaten him harder.
Tedros leaned against the dungeon wall, warm blood sliding down his abdomen. His raw, bruised back touched cold stone through the shreds in his shirt and he seized up. The throbbing was so intense his teeth chattered; he tasted a sharp edge in the bottom row where one of them had been chipped. He tried to think of Agatha’s face to keep him conscious, but all he could conjure were the faces of those filthy punks as their boots bashed down. The pirates’ assault had gone on for so long that at some point, it seemed disconnected from purpose. As if they were punishing him for his very existence.
Maybe Rhian had built his whole army on feelings like this. Feelings of people who thought because Tedros was born handsome and rich and a prince, he deserved to fall. To suffer.
But he could take all the suffering in the world if it meant Agatha would live.
To survive, his princess had to run as far as she could from Camelot. She had to hide in the darkest part of the Woods where no one could find her.
But that wasn’t Agatha. He knew her too well. She would come for her prince. No matter how much faith she’d lost in him.
The dungeons were quiet now, Rhian’s voice no longer audible.
“How do we get out of here!” Tedros called to the others, enduring blinding pain in his rib. “How do we escape!”
No one in their cell responded.
“Listen to me!” he shouted.
But the strain had done him in. His mind softened like soggy pudding, unlocking from his surroundings. He pulled his knees into his chest, trying to relieve pressure on his rib, but his flank burned hotter, the scene distorting in the torch-haze on the wall. Tedros closed his eyes, heaving deep breaths. Only it made him feel more sealed in, like he was in an airless coffin. He could smell the old bones . . . “Unbury Me,” his father’s voice whispered. . . .
Tedros wrenched out of his trance and opened his eyes—
Hester’s demon stared back at him.
Tedros recoiled against the wall, blinking to make sure it was actually there.
The demon was the size of a shoebox with brick-red skin and long, curved horns, his beady eyes locked on the young prince.
The last time Tedros had been this close to Hester’s demon, it had almost hacked him to pieces during a Trial by Tale.
“We thought this would work better than yelling across the dungeon,” said the demon.
Only