can’t always be Good.
She leaned against the prickly green blade of Arthur’s sword, out of sight of the teachers and first years.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
She was supposed to have all of her friends back, safe and sound. Sophie included.
But nothing ever went as it was supposed to.
At least not in her fairy tale.
A FEW HOURS earlier, Agatha stood at the window in Professor Sader’s old office—now Hort’s office—watching the stymphs fly off to Camelot, the students of Groups #1 and #6 on their backs. Little by little, the birds receded into the gold glare of Rhian’s tale about Young Hristo, branded against the blue sky.
Agatha glanced down at the remaining first years, cramming in a quick lunch of turkey stew in the Clearing, their eyes pinned to the horizon, anxiously watching their classmates soar towards Rhian’s kingdom.
“Nevers and Evers sitting together at lunch? Things have changed,” Agatha marveled.
“Or maybe they’ve bonded over you sending their friends to die,” Professor Manley’s voice growled behind her.
Agatha turned to see the Good and Evil faculty standing around Hort’s hopelessly messy desk, their faces tense with concern. Amidst the soggy books, ink-spattered scrolls, food crumbs, and strewn underpants lay Professor Dovey’s gray bag, the outline of a sphere visible beneath the worn fabric.
“I agree with Bilious,” said Princess Uma, arms folded over her pink gown. “You pull two groups of students into a corner, whisper with them like a pack of squirrels, and off they go into battle, with a plan you’ve yet to explain to anyone else.”
“EVEN THOUGH WE’RE THE TEACHERS,” Castor blistered.
“And even though one of the groups is mine,” snapped Yuba the Gnome, thumping his white staff into the dirty floor.
“Look, the groups will reach Camelot soon. We don’t have time to argue,” said Agatha forcefully. “They wanted to go. They’re not at this school to play it safe or be coddled. They’re here to do what is right. And that means getting our friends out of Camelot. You asked me to lead them and I did. You asked me to come up with a plan and I did. And now, for this plan to work, I need your help.”
“A PLAN NEEDS PLANNING,” Castor savaged.
“A plan needs consultation,” Yuba hectored.
“A plan needs time,” Professor Anemone resounded.
“There was no time,” Agatha bit back. “The Blessing is our chance to rescue our friends and I had to take it.”
“So you send first years to die?” said Professor Sheeks angrily. “Your fourth-year classmates in the clinic could have gone—you could have gone—”
“No, I couldn’t. And neither could any other fourth year,” Agatha retorted. “Rhian’s brother has a map that tracks us. Just like Dovey’s Quest Map. Rhian would see us coming. He can’t see the first years.”
Professor Sheeks went quiet.
“You think I wanted to send them into harm’s way?” said Agatha. “I wish they could all be in class right now, with nothing to worry about except Snow Balls and ranking points. I wish they could be practicing their animal calls and weather spells and be immune to anything beyond the school gates. I wish I could be the one flying to Camelot. But wishes won’t save my friends. For my plan to work, I needed them. And now I need you.” She paused. “Well, it isn’t really my plan. It’s Sophie’s.”
The teachers stared at her.
“I found it in Lionsmane’s message,” Agatha explained, looking out the window at the gold words in the sky.
Citizens of the Woods! Revel in the tale of Hristo of Camelot, only 8 years old, who ran away from home and came to my castle, hoping to be my knight. Young Hristo’s mother found and whipped the poor boy. Stay strong, Hristo! The day you turn 16, you have a place as my knight! A child who loves his king is a blessed child. Let that be a lesson to all.
“When we were in the theater, I read a news clip that claimed it wasn’t Rhian writing Lionsmane’s tales, but Sophie,” said Agatha. “It seemed absurd at first, and yet something told me it was true. Because the more I read the message, the more it felt off . . . as if whoever had written it had picked their language very carefully. . . . Which meant if it was Sophie who’d written it, she’d chosen her words for a reason.” Agatha smiled. “And then I saw it.”
With her fingerglow, she drew circles in the air, marking up the message.
Citizens of the Woods! Revel in