A Crystal of Time (The School for Good and Evil The Camelot Years #2) - Soman Chainani Page 0,48

Hort, but the scim on Hort’s ear had curled around, sensing something afoot, and Sophie quickly pretended to fix Hort’s collar. “You know what? The king seems busy,” she said to her steward, with a loaded look. “Let’s go back to our chamber and let him enjoy his tea.”

“Yes, mistress,” Hort said, stifling a grin.

As they started walking, Hort could see Rhian still chastising Kei below.

“You got my brother out of prison, out of the Sheriff’s enchanted sack, and now you can’t break into a school?” the king seethed. “You and I are a team. We’ve been a team since the beginning. But if you’re going to be the weak link, especially after I took you back—”

Kei reddened. “Rhian, I’m trying—”

The king lifted a finger and Lionsmane flew out of his pocket and lined up in front of Kei’s brown eye, the pen’s razor-tip caressing his pupil like a target.

“Try harder, captain,” said the king, needling the pen even closer.

Kei’s voice came out strangled. “Yes, sire.”

“Guards!” Rhian called, summoning Lionsmane back into hand. “Bring me Sophie.”

Spooked, Sophie sped her pace down the hall, but Hort’s eel bolted off him and over the balcony, letting out a piercing shriek.

Rhian’s eyes flicked to the second floor, where the black scim had blocked Sophie’s path, pointing at the princess’s head like an arrow.

A SHORT WHILE later, Sophie paced on the throne stage, gazing at her work, glowing hot pink in midair.

A pirate stood onstage, hand on his sword, his dark helmeted eyes moving warily between Hort and Sophie.

Sophie tapped her glowing pink fingertip to her lips, rereading her words—

Agatha has been caught! Another traitor of Camelot, brought down by the Lion. Do not believe other reports.

“Not quite right,” Sophie murmured.

Hort studied her from one side of the stage steps, while Rhian watched her from the other.

Sophie turned to Rhian. “Are you sure this is wise? You said Lionsmane is supposed to rival the Storian. To ‘inspire’ and ‘give hope.’ Not be the king’s mouthpiece.”

“I choose the stories. You write them,” said Rhian curtly.

“Plus, the Storian reports facts,” Sophie argued. “So far Lionsmane’s stories have been true, distorted as they are. But this is a lie that can be found out—”

“When your dear friend Agatha is being tortured in our dungeons, we can finish this conversation,” said the king.

Sophie stiffened and went back to work.

Hort, meanwhile, had fantasies of bashing Rhian’s head like a ripe pumpkin. Comparatively, Sophie was handling the situation quite well, he thought. He knew how much she cared about Agatha. Touting her own friend’s demise couldn’t be easy.

He glanced furtively at the mug of tea on Rhian’s throne, growing cold.

He saw Sophie glance over at it too and meet his eyes for a half-second.

“Drat’s your name, isn’t it?” Rhian asked, sidling against Hort.

Hort wanted to knee the sleazy, lying scum in the crown jewels or at least tell him to back the hell up, but he controlled himself.

“It’s Hort, Your Highness. And thank you for generously allowing me to serve in your castle.”

“Mmhmm,” said Rhian. “Though you won’t serve long if you keep smelling like a sewer. Do us all some good and learn to bathe. I’m not sure that’s something they teach you in fairy-tale school.”

Hort clenched his teeth. Rhian knew full well why he stank. He just wanted to bully Hort the way he’d bullied Tedros. It’s why Rhian was pressed hard against him, so Hort could feel his biceps, bigger than his own. Hort himself had been jacked with muscle until he’d left on this quest, but he hadn’t lifted weights in weeks and he’d started to whittle back down to a weasel’s frame. It hadn’t bothered him much, since Nicola liked the old, scrawny Hort she’d read about in books. But it bothered him now.

“Truth is, when Sophie chose you, I couldn’t remember you at all,” said Rhian. “Had to flip back through Sophie’s fairy tale to see who you were. Easy to get you and Dot confused, since you’re both deadweight. But you’re the one who Sophie wanted free, so here you are . . . for now.” The king turned to Hort, hardening to stone. “One wrong move and I’ll carve out your heart.”

Hort didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He could see Sophie pretending to work, but he knew she was listening. The color had returned to her cheeks, as if her spirit had revived. As if she was brewing a plan . . . Her eyes darted back to the