. . I assume, as either a loving tribute to her husband-to-be, or a desire to show off her many talents.”
All at once, the congregation turned towards Sophie, who was now the focus of more than two hundred royals, Good and Evil both. Sophie could see the gorgeous dark-skinned King of Pasha Dunes and his chic, bald-headed wife watching her; seated nearby was the Maharani of Mahadeva, dripping in jewels, with her three sons, while in front of them, the Queen of Jaunt Jolie looked anxious and chastened, far different from the bold woman who’d just confronted Rhian. All of their eyes were on Sophie.
She’d always dreamed of a moment like this: spotlit on a grand stage, an audience of luminaries, all of them knowing her name. . . .
Only in her dreams, she’d rehearsed.
Sophie stared at the sheet music in front of her.
OH HOLY LION
(“BUDHAVA’S HYMN OF PRAISE”)
She peeked at her first years—Aja, Devan, Laralisa, and more—their bodies tense, their pupils dilated. Only Valentina looked calm as she presided over the choir and gazed hard at Sophie as if to remind her of her cue. Sophie’s heart thumped so hard she could feel it in her throat . . . not just because she hadn’t a clue what would happen on that cue, but because she was about as good at reading music as she was at building cabinets, which is to say not at all.
Valentina raised her arms and brought them down, commencing the organist. Aja started two beats early, the rest of the choir two beats too late—
Glory be, oh holy Lion,
Glory be, our king!
His mercies shall endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure!
Sophie saw Rhian gaping like he’d been shot. Dignitaries rocked back in their seats. The church reverberated with the most strikingly awful sound imaginable, like a family of cats being dragged up a mountain. The worse they sounded, the more rattled Valentina looked, as if whatever plan was coming might be brought down by the singing before it, especially since Aja kept shimmying his hips either out of nerves or in an attempt to distract from the horror. Sophie, for her part, tried to dominate the chorus, but dirty Mali just kept wailing notes louder like a dying mountain goat. Devan, meanwhile, was cute as a button but had a voice like a sasquatch, and his girlfriend, Laralisa, unleashed a string of braying yelps like a broken jack-in-the-box. Worst of all, the stone walls and airways bounced the noise mercilessly, as if it was less a church and more some kind of echo-torture chamber. Mortified, Sophie held her sheet music higher over her face, so she couldn’t see the crowd and they couldn’t see her, but in her new sightline, she caught Bert and Beckett scooting like roaches through an airway overhead.
Sophie’s eyes flicked back to Rhian, who hadn’t noticed the masked spies, because he was already lurching out of his throne to stop this inferno.
Panicked, Sophie whirled to Valentina, who saw Rhian coming, and accelerated her conducting, waving her arms wildly, which led her charges to motormouth through the song like overfed chipmunks, the organist chasing to keep up, as the chorus barreled headlong into their cue.
Glory be, our king!
Glory be, oh virile Lion—
Sophie ducked.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Flaming green-yellow bombs ripped through the theater like fireworks, sending the crowd diving under their pews. Devan and Laralisa tackled Sophie to the ground as sparks sprayed over them and the audience’s screams filled the church. Shell-shocked, Sophie covered her ears, waiting for the next blast. . . .
Nothing happened.
Sophie raised her head. So did the spectators, their screams dissipating.
Then came the smell.
Like the fumes of a flaming dung heap . . . a stench so stultifying that the shrieks began again, this time with mortal urgency, as people fled the church in swarms—
“Come on!” Devan yelled at Sophie, dragging her towards the doors as Laralisa tried to clear a path for them, shoving gaudily dressed royals out of the way.
“Use your fingerglow!” Sophie barked, holding her nose.
“Our forest leader didn’t teach us how yet!” said Laralisa, headbutting a witch-queen aside. “We’re behind the other group—”
A regally dressed cyclops sideswiped her as he stormed for the exit, flinging Laralisa backwards into the crowd.
“That one-eyed cretin!” Devan seethed, rushing to save her.
“What about me!” Sophie squeaked, trapped in the stampede.
The smell in the church was so putrid now that kings were fainting, queens masking their faces with capes, and princes shattering stained glass to escape with their princesses. Overhead, Sophie