A Crystal of Time. Soman Chainani
opened her eyes.
No hands were raised.
None of the men could even look at her.
Agatha froze, her heart shrinking as small as a pea.
“I’ll give you a horse so you can leave in the morning,” said Robin Hood softly, avoiding eye contact too. “Ride on to someone who can help you.”
Agatha glared at him, red-faced. “Don’t you understand? There isn’t anyone else.”
She whirled to Marian for one last appeal—
But there was no one behind the bar, its namesake already gone.
WHILE THE MEN remained at Marian’s, Agatha came back to Robin’s treehouse, hoping to scrounge a few hours of rest before she left at first light.
But she couldn’t sleep.
She stashed Dovey’s bag in a corner and sat in the doorway, gazing out at the other treehouses, her legs dangling over the edge, brushed by bright purple lotus blossoms quivering in gusts. The wind upended the lanterns too, strung between the treehouses in a rainbow of colors, and forest fairies zipped about setting them right, their wings detonating red and blue like tiny jewels.
The last time Agatha was here, it had all felt so magical and safe, a protective bubble set off from the chaos of real life. But now the whole place felt callow. Insidious, even. Dark things were happening in the Woods and here in Sherwood Forest, purple lotuses luminesced and the houses still glowed bright, their doors wide open.
“I used to be like you,” Marian’s voice echoed.
Then she’d come here to be with Robin. She’d come here for love. A love that had sealed her off from the world and made time stand still. Isn’t that what true loves wanted in the end: to hide away in paradise?
After all, if she and Tedros had hidden away, they never would have had to lead Camelot. If she and Tedros had hidden away, he never would have heard her tell Sophie that he’d failed his quest as king.
They’d still have their Ever After.
They’d still have their perfect love.
Agatha let out a sigh.
No. That isn’t love.
Love isn’t locking yourselves in or hiding where everything is perfect.
Love is facing the world and its tests together, even if you fail them.
Suddenly, she felt the need to leave this place right now—to go back into the Woods, no matter how perilous—
But where would she go?
She was so used to taking care of things herself. That’s what had made her set off on her quest to find the Snake after Tedros’ coronation. She’d done it to help Tedros, of course. But she’d also done it because she trusted herself to solve problems: more than she trusted her prince or her best friend or anyone else.
Only this time, she couldn’t work alone. Not with her prince a few days from execution and the whole Woods hunting her and Sophie under Rhian’s thumb and the rest of her friends trapped in prison. If she tried to work alone, Tedros would die. That’s why she’d come here. To forge new alliances. And instead, she’d leave even more alone than before.
The wind turned cold and she glanced back, hoping to find a blanket or quilt—
Something caught her eye in the corner.
A black coat, hanging amongst a sea of green ones in the closet.
As she moved towards it, she saw it was splotched with dried blood . . .
Lancelot’s blood.
Tedros had worn the coat the night they’d come to Sherwood Forest to bury the knight along with Lady Gremlaine. He must have left it here when he’d changed clothes for their dinner at Beauty and the Feast . . .
Agatha clutched the coat in both hands and put it to her face, inhaling her prince’s warm, minty scent. For a half-second, it made her feel calm.
Then it dawned on her.
This could be the last she ever had of him.
Her heart kickstarted, that helpless feeling returning—
Then her hands felt something stiff in the coat pocket.
Agatha reached in and pulled out a stack of letters, banded together. She flipped through the first few.
DEAR GRISELLA,
I KNEW THERE’D BE UNDUE ATTENTION ON ME AT SCHOOL, BUT THIS IS ABSURD. I’VE ONLY BEEN HERE A FEW DAYS AND I’M STILL TRYING TO GET MY BEARINGS, YET EVERY EVER AND NEVER IN THE PLACE KEEPS HOUNDING ME, ASKING ME ABOUT HOW I PULLED EXCALIBUR FROM THE STONE AND WHAT BEING KING OF CAMELOT FEELS LIKE AND WHY I’M AT SCHOOL WHEN I SHOULD BE RULING MY KINGDOM. I TELL THEM THE “OFFICIAL” STORY, OF COURSE—THAT MY FATHER WENT TO THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND I WANT TO HONOR HIS LEGACY . . . BUT THE NEVERS DON’T BELIEVE ME. AT LEAST THEY DON’T KNOW THE TRUTH—THAT THE PROVISORY COUNCIL ONLY APPROVED MY CORONATION ON THE CONDITION THAT I RECEIVE A FORMAL EDUCATION (AKA HAVE TIME TO “GROW UP” BEFORE I RULE). BUT I DON’T INTEND TO TELL PEOPLE THAT MY OWN STAFF WON’T LET ME BE KING UNTIL I GRADUATE THIS PLACE. AND NOT ONLY GRADUATE, BUT GRADUATE TOP OF THE CLASS AND WITH A SUITABLE QUEEN-TO-BE PICKED OUT. I FEEL OVERWHELMED, HONESTLY. I CAN BARELY CONCENTRATE ON MY CLASSES. YESTERDAY, I BOTCHED PROFESSOR SADER’S QUIZ ON THE HISTORY OF CAMELOT. THAT’S RIGHT: I FAILED A TEST ON MY OWN KINGDOM—
DEAR GRISELLA,
THE DAYS AT SCHOOL ARE LONG AND DIFFICULT (ESPECIALLY YUBA THE GNOME’S CLASS IN THE BLUE FOREST—HE SWATS ME WITH HIS STAFF WHENEVER I MISS AN ANSWER AND I MISS PLENTY). BUT YOUR LETTERS FROM THE CASTLE HAVE GIVEN ME GREAT COMFORT AND REMIND ME OF OUR LIVES AT SIR ECTOR’S BEFORE I WAS KING, WHEN WE STARTED EACH DAY KNOWING EXACTLY WHAT WAS EXPECTED OF US—
DEAR GRISELLA,
I’VE BEEN PICKED FOR THE TRIAL BY TALE! EVEN THOUGH MY NEW FRIENDS LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE BOTH PLACED AHEAD OF ME. GUINEVERE I CAN UNDERSTAND (SHE’S BRILLIANT), BUT LANCELOT? HE’S GREAT FUN, BUT NOT THE SHARPEST SWORD IN THE ARMORY. NEEDLESS TO SAY, I’M FEELING THE SPIRIT OF COMPETITION MORE THAN EVER. IF THE NEW KING OF CAMELOT DOESN’T WIN THE TRIAL BY TALE, THE ROYAL ROT WILL BE RIDICULING ME ON THE FRONT PAGE FOR MONTHS. SPEAKING OF ROYALTY, IS EVERYTHING RUNNING SMOOTHLY AT THE CASTLE? I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM YOU IN WEEKS—
Agatha paged through more of them.
These weren’t Tedros’ letters. They were his father’s.
King Arthur must have written them when he was a first year at the School for Good. But who was Grisella? And why did Tedros have his father’s letters in his coat?
Then she noticed something stuck to the back of the last letter . . . a handwritten label . . .
Camelot Beautiful
And clipped to the label was a business card—
Agatha peered closer. Camelot Beautiful. That was the fund that Lady Gremlaine used to refurbish the castle, the one that never seemed to have any money, despite Agatha’s relentless fundraising for it. Had Tedros kept the label for a reason? And what about the business card? The only Albemarle she knew was the spectacled woodpecker that tallied ranks at the School for Good and Evil, and he certainly wasn’t a bank manager in Putsi . . .
Something rustled behind her and Agatha turned sharply.
She dropped the letters in shock.
“Hello, my dear,” said a tall woman in the doorway with wild, canary-yellow hair, an overabundance of makeup, and a leopard-print caftan billowing in the wind as she stepped off a hovering stymph into Robin’s treehouse.
“Professor