the stage ahead, where a big-bellied, black-hooded man in a black leather vest and leather kilt takes practice swings with his axe. As we get closer, the hooded man sets his gaze on us and grins through his mask. The first years shrink into their skins.
But not Tedros.
There’s something different in him now. Despite his slashed clothes, beaten-up body, and the tattooed pirate yoking him with his leash, the prince looks stronger, like he’s more resolved in his fight. Our eyes meet, and I get that tingling feeling again: the conviction that I can fix this. That there is a way out of this death trap.
And then I realize . . .
Each time I’ve had the feeling, I’ve been looking at Tedros.
He gives me a curious glance, as if he knows I’ve figured something out.
In front of the stage, their backs facing the castle, a hundred leaders from around the Woods have gathered in their finest clothes. They must have traveled to Camelot for Rhian’s wedding, only to see death added to the menu of festivities. We come from behind and for a moment, I see them before they see me. The first thing I notice is how haggard they look, as if they’ve been up all night. They speak in hushed tones, their faces grim beneath their crowns and diadems. The second thing I notice is that many are missing their rings: the silver bands that mark them as members of the Kingdom Council. Dread pits in my stomach. It’s my instinct to look for these rings. The School Master taught Lady Lesso and me to check for them when a ruler asked to meet with us (usually about a relative they wanted admitted to the school). These rings, pledging loyalty to the Storian, are the best proof a king or queen is who they say they are. But now half of these rings are gone? Rings worn without exception for thousands of years?
I hear a scrap of conversation—
“My castle has been firebombed,” says a woman I recognize as the Empress of Putsi, who pushed me to accept her son into Good. “As soon as I destroyed my ring, Rhian sent his men to Putsi and the attackers fled.”
“I thought you and I agreed to keep our rings,” the Duke of Hamelin retorts, still wearing his. “To protect the Storian. To protect the school.”
“The school is behind these attacks. You heard the king,” the Empress defends. “I didn’t believe it before, but I do now. My people come first.”
“Your castle, you mean,” snipes the Duke.
The Empress is about to respond when she sees us coming. The other leaders spot us too, as we curl towards the steps leading up to the stage. From the looks on their faces, it’s clear that they’ve either forgotten we were imprisoned or they didn’t know it was more than Tedros who would die today. And when they see me—Dean of Good, fairy godmother of legend, protector of the pen that keeps our world alive—their eyes widen in recognition. . . .
And yet, none move.
They just stand there, tethered in place, as if the same reason they’re not wearing their rings also precludes them from helping me and my charges.
I stare at the Princess of Altazarra, who once bawled in my arms when the boy she loved betrayed her to win a Trial by Tale her first year at school.
She looks away.
Sheep, I scorn. Rhian has the people’s support and no ruler dares challenge him, even if they know better. Every one of these leaders lives in fear of what’s about to happen to me happening to them, only at the hands of an angry mob instead of a king. Which means, even though I teach their sons and daughters, even though I’ve taught many of them, they won’t stand up for me or my students.
We’re dragged up creaking wooden steps to the stage, where the guards hold us in a line at the back, facing the chopping block and the audience below. A pirate is sharpening steel pikes and stacking them at the side of the stage.
I count seven.
“What are those for?” Aja murmurs on one side of me.
“Our heads,” says Nicola on the other, her eyes on Lionsmane’s message in the sky, ending with Rhian’s promise to mount our skulls for the Woods to see.
Next come the maids, in their white dresses and bonnets, who roll out a long gold-trimmed carpet patterned with lions, leading up to the stage.
Guinevere is amongst them,