A Crystal of Time (The School for Good and Evil The Camelot Years #2) - Soman Chainani Page 0,55

Lionsmane may be inspiring the people of the Woods, but the School for Good and Evil is our history,” said the elf, his accent firm and crisp. “Dismantle the school and the Storian has no protection. It has no purpose. Its tales of the graduates of the school are the bedrock of the Woods. Its tales teach our world the lessons we need to learn and move our Woods forward, one story at a time. Your pen can’t replace that, no matter how much people are taken with your message.”

Rhian smiled. “And yet, what if Lionsmane wrote a story in the sky for all to see about the mighty Elf King of Ladelflop and how nobly he rules his people? A people who I hear were quite resentful that you didn’t do more to stop the Snake’s attacks? Perhaps I’ll have your vote then.”

The Elf King stared at Rhian. Then he smiled big white teeth and thumped him on the back. “Politics on your Blessing day, eh? Shouldn’t you be introducing me to your lovely bride?”

“I only save her for allies,” Rhian teased, and the Elf King laughed.

Smiling blandly behind them, Sophie found herself distracted by the church’s facade, newly painted, and its lavish stained glass, depicting Rhian’s slaying of the Snake with holy reverence. Stone airways painted with gold Lions beveled along the walls, cooling the hot summer drafts. A perilously old chaplain with a red nose and hairy ears waited at the altar, and behind him were two thrones, where the king and princess would sit while he gave the Blessing. To the left of the altar huddled the church choir in white uniforms and page-boy hats and to the right hung a cage of tweeting doves, which the priest would free into the Woods at ceremony’s end.

Lucky little doves, Sophie thought.

Suddenly Beeba rushed forward and accosted Rhian as he greeted the King of Foxwood—

“Lionsmane, sire! Yer new message . . . i-i-it’s movin’ . . .”

Sophie’s eyes widened.

“Impossible,” Rhian snorted, releasing Sophie and prowling back through the church doors as Sophie hurried after him.

The moment she stepped outside, she saw the crowd’s faces cocked towards the sky, watching Lionsmane’s message about Agatha’s capture. The letters seemed to be quivering against the black storm clouds.

“Definitely moving,” Sophie wisped.

“Things move in the wind,” said Rhian, unconcerned.

But the message began to quiver faster, faster, as if ungluing from the sky, a pink scar appearing behind each of the dislodged letters. Then all of a sudden, the gold letters lost their shape, melding into each other, one by one, until Lionsmane’s message had collapsed into a single gold ball, swelling bigger, bigger, bigger, as big as the sun. . . .

Lightning ripped through the clouds. The ball detonated, splashing four letters in gold across the sky—

The gold and clouds dispersed, revealing clear morning blue.

Silence gripped the courtyard.

All down the road, thousands gaped upwards, wondering what they’d just seen, along with the visiting leaders, staring in shock through the church doors. Together, they looked at the king, but he was already dragging Sophie inside the church—

“You did something to that message!” Rhian hissed. “You corrupted it!”

“I did, did I? Just like I poisoned you in the Throne Room?” Sophie hissed back. “I’ve been here with you this whole time. When did I have time to conduct a matinee performance of ‘Sorcery in the Sky’? It’s obvious who did it. The same person who made your tea. The same person who chose to stay behind.” She arched a brow. “I wonder why.”

Rhian considered this, his eyes searching hers. . . . He turned to his pirate guard.

“Bring my brother here. Now.”

“Yes, sire,” Beeba mumbled, rushing away.

Sophie, meanwhile, did her best to suppress a smile.

Because it wasn’t Japeth who was responsible for what just happened.

It was her.

She’d snuck a code into Lionsmane’s stories. The one about Young Hristo and the one about Agatha today.

A code only one person in the entire world could understand.

Rhian had searched her work for hidden messages and she’d mocked him for it, insisting she couldn’t possibly be capable of hiding a distress call right under his nose. . . .

But anyone who truly knew Sophie would have known better.

Because Sophie was capable of anything.

Not that she’d expected her hidden code to reach its target. It was a shot in the dark, a last-ditch Hail Mary, which is why she’d committed to Hort’s nut-brained plan.

Yet in the end it was her plan that had worked.

Which meant that her friend had