A Crystal of Time (The School for Good and Evil The Camelot Years #2) - Soman Chainani Page 0,170

turned as Japeth rose from the ground, his face as bloodied as his brother’s, his hair matted tight against his skull. The Snake had Excalibur in one hand. With the other, he reached up and placed Camelot’s crown on his head.

“The pen said one of us would be king, the other healed by her blood,” the Snake spoke, leering at his brother. “But it never said which of us would wear the crown. It never said the elder. Two brothers. Two possible kings. And yet I let you be king. Not because I thought you deserved the crown. But because you promised me a wish. You promised to bring back the one person I loved. A love that is worth more to me than a crown. Ironic, isn’t it? The Good brother wishes for power. The Evil brother wishes for love. But that was the deal we made, bonded by a promise. A promise you no longer are willing to keep. So I propose a new deal. You can be the one healed by your new love’s blood. And I’ll be the king. A king with the power to fulfill your promise myself.”

Japeth’s black suit of scims morphed into Rhian’s blue-and-gold suit. The king’s suit. One of the newly gilded scims flew off Japeth and, like a paintbrush, magically swept across Rhian and turned Rhian’s suit gold and blue. Japeth’s old liege’s suit.

The Snake grinned. “I like this arrangement better.”

Rhian charged at him, ramming his head into Japeth’s chest, spraying the king’s crown into the wall and Excalibur onto the bed. The twins grappled for the sword, blood obscuring their faces, as the Snake magically transformed their suits, from blue to gold, gold to blue, back and forth, until Sophie couldn’t tell who was who anymore.

“Who’s the king, who’s the king,” Japeth chanted, their suits changing faster, their blood-covered hands straining for Excalibur, closer, closer . . .

Sophie suddenly questioned what she’d seen in the crystal. Two brothers dead. Herself, still standing. Had it been the truth? The real future? Or had it been a crystal of mind? A script of wishful thinking?

She couldn’t leave it to chance. Witches won wars themselves.

Lunging out of the corner, she dove for the sword—

The king threw her out of the way, his blue-and-gold suit spattered red. Sophie rebounded, but she was too late. Rhian swiped the hilt into one hand, double-fisting with the other. His blade swung through the air, the edge catching the light like a sunflare—

It impaled Japeth’s chest.

Clean through the heart.

Japeth closed his eyes in shock, stumbling backwards, his face slick with blood.

Rhian drew the sword out and his brother fell.

Sophie put a hand to her mouth, watching the scene play out as it had in the crystal. Only this time it was real, the smell of blood and sweat suffocating her.

Rhian kneeled over Japeth’s body, watching his twin take his last breath.

The king bowed his head, holding the Snake’s corpse.

Excalibur lay abandoned behind him.

Rhian didn’t see Sophie move from the corner.

The fear was gone from her face.

Replaced with intent.

She picked up the sword, her slippered feet creeping along the carpet.

Without a sound, she raised the sword over Rhian’s back.

Then she froze.

Rhian was crying.

Sobbing.

Like a little boy.

Crying for his dead brother.

Crying for his other half.

Something in Sophie’s heart stirred.

A bond of blood she understood.

“Rhian?” she whispered.

He didn’t look at her.

“You can bring him back,” Sophie breathed. “You can use the pen. You can bring him back to life.”

His sobs went softer.

“Rhian?”

Then his cries changed. Louder, wilder, pealing through the silent room. Until Sophie realized they weren’t cries at all.

They were laughs.

He turned around, his ice-blue eyes slashing through her. As he stood, he wiped the blood off his face, revealing his milk-white skin.

A scream caught in Sophie’s throat.

“Not Rhian,” she choked.

Not Rhian!

Not Rhian!

“Oh?” said the Snake.

A gold scim floated off his king’s suit and sheared the wet, matted locks of his hair to a close-skulled crop. Then it stroked the Snake’s face like a pen, magically tanning him to a burnished amber.

“More Rhian than the real thing,” he smiled.

He stabbed a finger at the hovering scim and it shot through the window like a knife, surged into the sky, and inked a golden message against the slate of gray.

The wedding of King Rhian and Princess Sophie will take place as scheduled. . . .

Sophie dashed for the door, but it was still bolted by scims. She recoiled in horror, watching Japeth move towards her, his grin dark and unhinged.

Agatha!

Agatha, help