A Crystal of Time (The School for Good and Evil The Camelot Years #2) - Soman Chainani Page 0,177

rammed her head into the Lady of the Lake’s chest. The nymph dropped Tedros into the lake, as the Lady and Agatha plunged underwater, knotted in each other’s limbs.

Before Tedros could take a breath, the lake around him exploded with blue light.

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 dunking underwater, glimpsing Agatha as she seized the Lady of the Lake’s hand and touched it to the glowing crystal ball, the two of them evaporating inside the portal. Already the bright blue light was fading, the portal starting to close; Tedros flung forward, kicking his legs like a dolphin tail, stabbing out his fingers as the crystal darkened—

Pain exploded through his chest and he fell backwards, splayed in the blinding light, before he felt cold glass catch him from beneath, puddling with the water off his skin.

In the wet reflection, he watched his princess kneel down and help him to his feet inside Dovey’s ball. She grimaced, still unsteady herself, neither of them recovered from the crystal’s assault. But Agatha’s eyes weren’t on him. They were on the Lady of the Lake, posed silently on the other side of the ball, her hands caressing the thousands of tiny glass droplets arranged in the phantom’s mask, as if she was instinctively versed in the crystal’s magic.

Tedros and Agatha moved towards her, but the Lady paid no attention, the old crone hunched over as she studied scenes inside the crystals, brushing past any with the prince and princess and fixing instead on her own. . . . Forging Excalibur from her own silvery blood. Bestowing the sword on Tedros’ father. Talking intimately with Arthur on the shores of her lake. Surging across a battlefield at Arthur’s side like his warrior angel, obliterating the king’s enemies . . . In all of these she was beautiful, powerful, so rich with powers that Tedros could see her eyes sparkle, gazing into these magic mirrors of time. There were no scenes of her present or future. Her soul only knew the past.

Then the Lady froze.

It was a crystal near the phantom’s edge.

She backed away from it, her hands starting to shake.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Tedros realized. “The moment you lost your powers.”

The Lady of the Lake didn’t move.

“We need to go inside,” said Agatha.

The Lady turned, the fever of rage broken, replaced by anguish and grief. “No. Please.”

“It’s the only way we’ll know the truth,” said Agatha.

The Lady appealed to Tedros. “Leave it be.”

Tedros looked back at the haggard old witch who had just tried to kill him, a witch who had let his knight die and protected a Snake. A witch whose sword had rejected him. He wanted to feel anger. He wanted to feel hate. But deep in her eyes, all he could see was someone as flawed as he. Both their stories had taken detours into darkness. Both their futures were unclear. He reached out and clasped her decrepit palm.

“He is my father’s son. The boy you kissed,” Tedros spoke. “But I am Arthur’s son too. So if you see my father in me, even a trace of that king you served so loyally, then help us. We need you, even without your powers. Good needs you.”

The Lady searched Tedros’ face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her lips quivering, but no sound came out.

Slowly she reached up and pulled down the crystal.

She held it out to Agatha, the Lady’s breaths shallow, her fingers tremoring.

Without a word, Agatha took the glass droplet into one hand, then Tedros’ palm into the other.

Raising the crystal, Agatha stared calm and still into its center.

Light broke through like a sword.

HARD, WET SNOW pelted Tedros’ cheek.

He glanced down and saw his boots floating on top of clear water, Agatha with him at the edge of the lake, his princess still holding his hand. Behind them, the portal’s gash of blue light glowed strong. They were inside the Lady’s crystal, two ghosts revisiting the past.

Sounds came from the shore: metal into skin . . . a wheeze of breath . . . a sword hitting snow . . .

Slowly Tedros and Agatha looked up.

The Snake rose from Chaddick’s dead body, his scaly black suit and green mask flecked with blood. He walked towards the Lady of the Lake, who floated over her shores, her silver hair thick and flowing, her dark eyes pinned on Chaddick’s killer.

“A king stands before me,”