A Crystal of Time (The School for Good and Evil The Camelot Years #2) - Soman Chainani Page 0,43

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 anyone. Tedros. Hester. She could have picked Dovey. 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 who you’ve obsessed about for three years. He tried to distract himself with details of the room but found his eyes moving to Sophie’s 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