A Crystal of Time Page 4

  But that was different.

  Back then, Sophie had wanted to be Evil.

  Back then, Sophie had been a witch.

  Marrying Rhian was supposed to be her redemption.

  Marrying Rhian was supposed to be true love.

  She’d thought he’d understood her. When she looked into his eyes, she’d seen someone pure, honest, and Good. Someone who acknowledged the shades of Evil in her heart and loved her for them like Agatha did.

  He was gorgeous too, of course, but it wasn’t his looks that made her take his ring. It was the way he looked at her. The same way Tedros looked at Agatha. As if he could only be complete by having her love.

  Two by two and four best friends. It was the perfect ending. Teddy with Aggie, Sophie with Rhian.

  But Agatha had warned her: “If there’s one thing I know, Sophie . . . it’s that you and I don’t get to have perfect endings.”

  She’d been right, of course. Agatha was the only person Sophie ever truly loved. She’d taken for granted that she and Aggie would be in each other’s lives forever. That their ending was safe.

  But they were far away from that ending now . . . with no way back.

  Four guards grabbed Sophie from behind and yanked her into the Blue Tower, their bodies reeking of onions and cider and sweat beneath their armor, their filthy nails digging into her shoulder before she finally flung out both arms and shoved them away.

  “I wear the king’s ring,” Sophie seethed, smoothing her plunging pink dress. “So if you would like to retain your heads, I suggest you take your stultifying stench to the nearest baths and keep your grubby paws off me.”

  One of the guards doffed his helmet, revealing sunburnt Wesley, the teenage pirate who’d tormented her in Jaunt Jolie. “King gave us orders to take yer to the Map Room. Don’t trust yer to git there on yer own, case you run like that wench Agatha did,” he sneered, flashing a squalid set of teeth. “So either we walk yer nicely like we were doin’ or we git you there a little less nice.”

  The three other guards removed their helmets and Sophie came face-to-face with the pirate Thiago, bloodred carvings around his eyes; a black boy with the name “Aran” tattooed in fire on his neck; and a supremely muscular girl with shorn dark hair, piercings in her cheeks, and a lecherous glare.

  “Your choice, Whiskey Woo,” growled the girl.

  Sophie let them drag her.

  As they goaded her through the Blue Tower rotunda, she saw a cadre of fifty workers, repainting columns with fresh Lion crests, refurbishing marble floors with Lion insignias in each tile, replacing the broken chandelier with one dangling a thousand tiny Lion heads, and switching out frayed blue chairs with spruced-up seats, the cushions embroidered with golden Lions. All remnants of King Arthur were similarly replaced, every tarnished bust and statue of the old king usurped with a buffed one of the new.

  Sun sifted through the curtains, setting the circular foyer aglow, the light dancing off the new paint and polished gems. Sophie noticed three skeletal women with identical faces moving across the room in matching silk lavender robes. They handed each worker a satchel that clinked with coins, the three sisters gliding as one unit with imperious stiffness, as if they were the queens of the castle. The women saw Sophie watching them and gave her a simpering smile, bobbing together in a tight curtsy.

  There was something off about them, Sophie thought. Not just their fake monkey grins and that bungled bow, like they were freak-show clones . . . but the fact that under those clean pastel robes, they weren’t wearing any shoes. As the women continued to pay workers, Sophie peered at their grimy, bare feet that looked like they belonged to chimney sweeps, not ladies of Camelot.

  No doubt about it. Something was definitely off.

  “I thought Camelot had no money,” Sophie said to the guards. “How are we paying for all this?”

  “Beeba, say we cut her brain open, what we gonna find,” Thiago asked the girl pirate.

  “Worms,” said Beeba.

  “Rocks,” countered Wesley.

  “Cats,” offered Aran.

  The others looked at him. He didn’t explain.

  Nor did they answer Sophie’s question. But as Sophie passed sitting rooms, bedchambers, a library, and solarium, each being renovated with Lion crests and carvings and emblems, it became clear that Camelot did have money. Lots of it. Where had the gold come from? And who were those three sisters acting like they owned the place? And how was this happening so soon? Rhian had barely become king and suddenly, the whole castle was being remade in his image? It didn’t make any sense. Sophie saw more men shuffle by, carrying a giant portrait of Rhian in his crown and asking guards for directions to the “Hall of Kings” where they were supposed to hang it. One thing was for sure, Sophie thought, watching them veer towards the White Tower: all of this had to have been planned by the king long before today. . . .

  Don’t call him that. He isn’t the king, she chastised herself.

  But how did he pull Excalibur, then? a second voice asked.

  Sophie had no response. At least not yet.

  Through one window, she saw workers rebuilding the castle’s drawbridge. Through another, she glimpsed gardeners reseeding grass and pulling in brilliant blue rosebushes, replacing the old dead ones, while over in the Gold Tower courtyard, workers painted gold Lions in the basin of each reflecting pool. A commotion disturbed the work and Sophie spotted a brown-skinned woman in a chef’s uniform ushered out of the castle by pirate guards, along with her cooks, as a new young, strapping chef and his all-male staff were guided in to replace them.

  “But the Silkima family has been cooking for Camelot for two hundred years!” the woman protested.

  “And we thank you for your service,” said a handsome guard with narrow eyes who was in a different uniform than the pirates—gilded and elaborate, suggesting he was of higher rank.

  He looks familiar, Sophie thought.

  But she couldn’t study the boy’s face any longer because she was being pulled into the Map Room now, which smelled clean and light, like a lily meadow—which wasn’t what Map Rooms were supposed to smell like, since they were airless chambers, usually occupied by teams of unwashed knights.

  Sophie looked up to see maps of the Woods’ realms floating in the amber lamplight above a large, round table like severed balloons. As she peered closer, she saw these weren’t old, brittle maps from King Arthur’s reign . . . but the same magical Quest Maps that she and Agatha once encountered in the Snake’s lair, featuring tiny figurines of her and her quest team, enabling the Snake to track their every move. Now all those figurines hovered over Camelot’s tiny, three-dimensional castle, while their real-life counterparts festered in the dungeons below. But as she looked closer, Sophie noticed there was one labeled crew member on the map who wasn’t near the castle at all . . . one who was breaking away from Camelot, slipping towards the kingdom border . . .

  AGATHA.

  Sophie gasped.

  She’s alive.

  Aggie’s alive.

  And if she was alive, that meant Agatha would do everything she could to free Tedros. Which meant Sophie and her best friend could work together to save Camelot’s true king: Aggie from the outside, she from the inside.

  But how? Tedros would die in a week. They didn’t have any time. Plus, Rhian could track Aggie himself on this Quest Map anytime he wanted—

  Sophie’s eyes flared. Quest Map! She had her own! Her fingers clasped the gold vial attached to the chain around her neck, carrying the magical map given to each Dean. She tucked the vial deeper under her dress. As long as she had her own map, she could trace Agatha without Rhian knowing. And if she could trace her, maybe she could also send Agatha a message before the king’s men found her. Hope flooded through her, drowning out fear—

  But then Sophie noticed the rest of the room.

  Five maids with white lace dresses that covered every inch of their skin and wide white bonnets on their heads were fanned around
the table, silent and still like statues, their heads bowed so she couldn’t see their faces, each holding a leather-bound book in her outstretched palms. Sophie moved closer, noticing that the books were labeled with the names of her and Rhian’s wedding events.

  BLESSING

  PROCESSION

  CIRCUS OF TALENTS

  FEAST OF LIGHTS

  WEDDING

  She stared at a slim maid holding the book marked PROCESSION. The girl kept her head down. Sophie flipped through the book while the girl held it, the pages filled with sketches of carriage options and animal breeds and outfit possibilities that she and Rhian could use for the town parade, where the king and new queen would have a chance to meet the people up close. Would they ride in a glass carriage pulled by horses? On a gold-and-blue flying carpet? Or together atop an elephant? Sophie shifted to the maid with the CIRCUS OF TALENTS book and scanned through stage designs and curtain choices and decorations for a show where the best talents from the various kingdoms would perform for the betrothed couple . . . then she moved to the book branded FEAST OF LIGHTS and perused dozens of bouquets and linens and candelabras for a midnight dinner. . . .

  All Sophie had to do was point a finger and pick from these books, filled with everything she needed for the wedding of her dreams. A wedding bigger than life to a storybook prince. A wedding that had been her wish since she was a little girl.

  But instead of joy, Sophie felt sick, thinking of the monster she was marrying.

  That’s the problem with wishes.

  They need to be specific.

  “King says yer to work till supper,” Wesley ordered from the door.

  He started to leave, then stopped.

  “Oh. You’ve been asked to wear this at all times,” he said, pointing at a white dress hung up on the back of the door, prim, ruffly, and even more modest than the maids’.

  “Over my dead body,” Sophie flamed.

  Wesley smiled ominously. “We’ll let the king know.”

  He left with his pirates, closing the door behind them.

  Sophie waited a few seconds, then ran for the door—

  It didn’t budge.

  They’d locked her in.

  No windows either.

  No way to send Agatha a message.

  Sophie turned, realizing the maids were still there, posed like statues in their white dresses, faces hidden, as they clutched the wedding books.

  “Do you speak?” Sophie snapped.

  The maids stayed silent.

  She smacked a book out of one of their hands.

  “Say something!” she demanded.

  The maid didn’t.

  Sophie snatched a book from the next maid and threw it against the wall, sending pages flying everywhere.

  “Don’t you get it? He’s not Arthur’s son! He’s not the real king! And his brother is the Snake! The Snake that attacked kingdoms and killed people! Rhian pretended his brother was the enemy so he could look like a hero and become king! Now they’re going to kill Tedros! They’re going to kill the true king!”

  Only one of the maids flinched.

  “They’re savages! They’re murderers!” Sophie shouted.

  None of them moved.

  Furious, Sophie swiped more of the books and tore pages apart, ripping out the bindings. “We have to do something! We have to get out of here!” With a cry, she flung leather and parchment across the room, knocking the floating maps into walls—

  Then she saw the Snake watching her.

  He stood silently in the threshold of the open door, his gold-and-blue suit illuminated in the lamplight. Japeth had his brother Rhian’s copper hair, only longer and wilder, as well as Rhian’s sculpted face but paler, a cold milky-white, like he’d been sucked of blood.

  “One book’s missing,” he said.

  He tossed it on the table.

  EXECUTION

  Heart sinking, Sophie peeled it open to see an array of axes to choose from, followed by options for chopping blocks, each with a sketch of Tedros kneeling, his neck stretched over the block. There were even choices for baskets to catch his severed head.

  Slowly Sophie looked back up at the Snake.

  “I assume there’ll be no more trouble about the dress,” said Sir Japeth.

  He turned to leave—

  “You animal. You disgusting scum,” Sophie hissed at the Snake’s back. “You and your brother use smoke and mirrors to infiltrate Camelot and steal the real king’s crown and you think you can get away with it?” Her blood boiled, the fury of a witch rekindling. “I don’t know what you did to trick the Lady of the Lake or what Rhian did to trick Excalibur, but that’s all it was. A trick. You can put my friends in jail. You can threaten me all you want. But people can only be fooled for so long. They’ll see who you two are in the end. That you’re a soulless, murdering creep and he’s a fraud. A fraud whose throat I’ll cut the second he shows his face—”

  “Better get on with it, then,” a voice said as Rhian entered, barechested in black breeches, his hair wet. He glared at Japeth. “I told you I’d handle her.”

  “And then you went for a bath,” said Japeth, “while she refuses to wear Mother’s dress.”

  Sophie lost her breath. Not just because she had a storm of rage ready to unleash or because two brothers were dolling her up in their mother’s clothes, but because she’d never seen Rhian without his shirt before. Now as she looked at him, she saw his chest was just as ghost white as Japeth, while Rhian’s arms and face glowed a deep tan—the same tan that farmers in Gavaldon had after they wore shirts in the hot summer sun. Rhian saw her ogling him, and he gave her a cocked grin, as if he knew what she was thinking: even the tan had been part of the ruse to prevent anyone from seeing they were brothers, a ruse to make Rhian look like a golden Lion battling a cold-hearted Snake . . . when, in fact, the Lion and the Snake were perfect twins all along.

  As Sophie stood there, taking in their matching smirks and sea-colored stares, she could feel a familiar fear—the same fear she’d felt when she kissed Rafal. No, this fear was sharper. She’d known who Rafal was. She’d chosen him for the wrong reasons. But she’d learned from her fairy tale. She’d fixed her mistakes . . . only to fall in love with an even worse villain. And this time, there wasn’t one of him, but two.

  “Wonder what kind of mother could raise cowards like you,” Sophie snarled.

  “Talk about my mother and I’ll rip out your heart,” the Snake spewed, launching for her—

  Rhian held him back. “Last time. I’ll handle her.”

  He pushed Japeth aside, leaving his brother stewing in the corner.

  Rhian turned to Sophie, his eyes clear as glass.

  “You think we’re the cowards? You were the one who said Tedros was a bad king. In fact, during the carriage ride to recruit the armies, you said I could do better. That you could do better. And here you are, acting as if you stood by your dear ‘Teddy’ all along.”

  Sophie bared her teeth. “You set Tedros up. The Snake was your brother. You lied to me, you cockroach—”

  “No,” the king slashed, hardening. “I didn’t lie. I never lied. Every single word has been the truth. I saved kingdoms from a ‘Snake,’ didn’t I? I pulled Excalibur from its stone. I passed my father’s test and for that, I am king, not that fool who failed his test again and again and again. Those are the facts. That speech I gave to the army in Camelot Hall: all of that was true too. It did take a Snake to bring forth the real Lion of Camelot. You loved me when I spoke those words then. You wanted to marry me—”

  “I thought you were talking about Tedros!” Sophie screamed. “I thought he was the real Lion!”

  “Another lie. In the carriage ride, I told you that Tedros had failed. That he’d lost the war for people’s hearts. That a real Lion would have known how to win. You heard me, Sophie, even if you don’t want to admit it. It’s why you fell in love with me. And now that everything I said would happen has indeed happened, you act as if I’
m a villain because it isn’t exactly like you imagined. That’s cowardly.”

  “I loved you because you pledged your loyalty to Tedros and Agatha!” Sophie fought. “I loved you because I thought you were a hero! Because you pretended to love me back!”

  “Again. A lie. I never made such a pledge and I never said I loved you nor did you ask if I did,” said the king, moving towards her. “I have my brother. I have the bond of blood, which is forever. Love, on the other hand, is a figment. Look what it did to my father, to Tedros, to you—it made you foggy-eyed fools. So, no, I don’t love you, Sophie. You’re my queen for a reason deeper than love. A reason that makes me willing to risk having you by my side, despite your sympathy for an impostor king. A reason that will bond us more than love.”

  “Bond? You think you and me can have a bond?” Sophie said, recoiling from him, knocking into a maid. “You’re a two-faced lunatic. You had your brother attack people so you could ride in to save them. You put a sword to my spine, you imprisoned my friends—”

  “They’re still alive. Be thankful for that,” said Rhian, cornering her. “But right now, you’ve wedded your loyalty to the wrong king and the wrong queen. You’re blinded by friendship. Agatha and Tedros are not meant to rule the Woods. You and I are, and soon you will understand why.”

  Sophie tried to move, but he took her damp palm in his. “In the meantime, if you behave and as long as it’s reasonable . . . ,” he said, softening, “the maids and cooks will grant any requests you have.”

  “Then I request Tedros be freed,” Sophie spat at him.

  Rhian paused. “I said ‘reasonable.’”

  Sophie ripped her hand away. “If you are Arthur’s son, as you say you are, then Tedros is your brother—”

  “Half-brother,” said the king coldly. “And who’s to say that’s true? Who’s to say he’s King Arthur’s son at all?”

  Sophie gaped at him. “You can’t just mold the truth to fit your lies!”

  “You think that Tedros shares our blood?” Japeth piped from the corner. “That whinging little tart? Unlikely. But maybe if you give Rhian an extra kiss tonight, he’ll poison the boy instead of chopping off his head.” He smiled at Sophie and flicked his tongue like a serpent.