A Crystal of Time Page 8

  Japeth’s eyes slid back down to Tedros, his fingerglow dissipating.

  That’s when Tedros noticed Hester’s demon on the wall behind the Snake, crawling into the boy’s shadow. Tedros quickly averted his eyes from the demon, his heart jumping hurdles.

  The Snake gazed at Tedros’ bashed-up face. “Not so pretty anymore, are you.”

  It was the way he said it that snapped Tedros to attention, the boy’s tone dripping with disdain. He wasn’t some masked creature anymore. He had a face. He was human now, this Snake. He could be defeated.

  Tedros bared his teeth, glaring hard at the savage who’d killed Chaddick, killed Lancelot, and smeared his father’s name. “We’ll see what you look like when I ram my sword through your mouth.”

  “So strong you are,” the Snake cooed. “Such a man.” He reached out and caressed Tedros’ cheek—

  Tedros slapped his hand away so hard it struck the cell bars, the bone of the Snake’s wrist cracking against metal. But the pale-faced boy didn’t flinch. He just smirked at Tedros, relishing the silence.

  Then he pulled the black dungeon key from his sleeve. “I wish I could say this was a social call, but I’m here on behalf of my brother. After she had supper with the king tonight, Princess Sophie was given permission by King Rhian to release one of you.” He glanced down the hall and saw the rest of the crew poking their heads out of the cell at the other end, wide-eyed and listening. “That’s right. One of you who will no longer live in the dungeons and instead be allowed to work in the castle as the princess’s servant, under King Rhian’s eye. One of you whose life will be spared . . .”

  The Snake looked back at Tedros. “. . . for now.”

  Tedros bolted straight as an arrow. “She picked me.”

  In a flash, all doubts Tedros had about Sophie vanished. He should have never mistrusted her. Sophie didn’t want him dead. She didn’t want him to suffer. No matter how much they’d hurt each other in the past.

  Because Sophie would do anything for Agatha. And Agatha would do anything for Tedros. Which meant Sophie would do anything to save Tedros’ life, including finding a way to convince a usurping king to set his enemy free.

  How had she done it? How had she gotten Rhian on her side?

  He’d hear the story soon enough.

  Tedros grinned at the Snake. “Get moving, scum. Princess’s orders,” he said. “Open the door.”

  The Snake didn’t.

  “Let me out,” Tedros commanded, face reddening.

  The Snake stayed still, the prison key glinting between his fingers.

  “She picked me!” Tedros snarled, gripping the bars. “Let me out!”

  Instead, the Snake just put his face to the prince’s . . . and smiled.

  6

  SOPHIE

  The Dinner Game

  Earlier that evening, the pirates Beeba and Aran brought Sophie down from the Map Room for dinner.

  Rhian and Japeth were already halfway through their first course.

  “It needs to be harsh. A warning,” she heard Japeth saying in the refurbished Gold Tower dining room. “Lionsmane’s first tale should instill fear.”

  “Lionsmane should give people hope,” said Rhian’s voice. “People like you and me who grew up without any.”

  “Mother is dead because she believed in hope,” said his brother.

  “And yet, Mother’s death is the reason both of us are in this room,” said Rhian.

  As she neared the door, all Sophie heard was silence. Then—

  “Supporters of Tedros are protesting tonight in Camelot Park,” said Japeth. “We should ride in and kill them all. That should be Lionsmane’s first tale.”

  “Killing protestors will lead to more protests,” said Rhian. “That’s not the story I want to tell.”

  “You weren’t afraid of bloodshed when it got you the throne,” said Japeth snidely.

  “I’m king. I’ll write the tales,” said Rhian.

  “It’s my pen,” Japeth retorted.

  “It’s your scim,” said Rhian. “Look, I know it isn’t easy. Serving as my liege. But there can only be one king, Japeth. I know why you’ve helped me. I know what you want. What both of us want. But to get it, I need the Woods on my side. I need to be a good king.”

  Japeth snorted. “Every good king ends up dead.”

  “You have to trust me,” Rhian pressed. “The same way I trust you.”

  “I do trust you, brother,” said Japeth, softening. “It’s that devious little minx I don’t trust. Suppose you start listening to her instead of me?”

  Rhian snorted. “As likely as me growing horns. Speaking of the minx.” He laid down his fork on his plate of rare, freckled deer meat and looked up coldly from the decadent table, his crown reflecting his blue-and-gold suit.

  “I heard guards pounding on the Map Room door, Sophie. If you can’t make it to dinner on time, then your friends in the dungeon won’t get dinner at all—” He stopped.

  Sophie stood beneath the new Lion-head chandelier, wearing the dress they’d left for her. Only she’d slashed the prim white frock in half, ruffled the bottom into three layers (short, shorter, shortest), hiked them high over her knees, and lined the seams of the dress with wet, globby beads, each filled with different colored ink. Crystal raindrops dangled from her ears; silver shadow burnished her eyelids; her lips were coated sparkly red; and she’d crowned her hair with origami stars, made from the parchment she’d ripped out of the wedding books. All in all, instead of the chastened princess the king might have expected after their encounter in the Map Room, Sophie had emerged looking both like a birthday cake and a girl jumping out of one.

  The pirates with Sophie looked just as stunned as the king.

  “Leave us,” Rhian ordered them.

  The moment they did, Japeth launched to his feet, his pale cheeks searing red. “That was our mother’s dress.”

  “It still is,” Sophie said. “And I doubt she would have appreciated you gussying up girls you’ve kidnapped in her old clothes. The real question is why you asked me to wear this dress at all. Is it to make me feel like you own me? Is it because I remind you of your dear departed mum? Or is it something else? Hmm . . . In any case, you told me what to wear. Not how to wear it.” She gave a little shimmy, the light catching the colorful gobs on the dress like drops of a rainbow.

  The Snake glared at her, scims sliding faster on his body. “You dirty shrew.”

  Sophie took a step towards him. “Snakeskin is a specialty. Imagine what I could make out of your suit.”

  Japeth lunged towards her, but Sophie thrust out her palm—

  “Ever wonder what map ink is made out of?” she asked calmly.

  Japeth stopped midstride.

  “Iron gall,” said Sophie, green eyes shifting from the Snake to Rhian, who was still seated, watching her between tall candles in the Lion-themed centerpiece. “It’s the only substance that can be dyed multiple colors and last for years without fading. Most maps are inked with iron gall, including yours in the Map Room. The ones you enchanted to track me and my friends. Do you know what else iron gall is used for?”

  Neither twin answered.

  “Oh, silly me, I learned about it in my Curses class at school and you boys didn’t get into my school,” said Sophie. “Iron gall is a blood poison. Ingest it and it brings instant death. But let’s say I dab a touch on my skin. It would sap the nutrients from my blood, while keeping me alive, just barely, meaning any vampiric freak who might suddenly need my blood . . . well, they would get poisoned too. And it happens this entire dress—your mother’s dress, as you point out—is now dotted in pearls of iron gall I extracted from your maps, using the most basic of first-year spells. Which means the slightest wrong move and—poof!—it’ll smear onto my skin in just the right dose. And then my blood won’t be very useful to you at all, will it? The perils of haute couture, I suppose.” She fluffed the tail of her dress. “Now, darlings. What’s for dinner?”

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nbsp; “Your tongue,” said Japeth. Scims shot off his chest, turning knife-sharp, as they speared towards Sophie’s face. Her eyes widened—

  A whipcrack of gold light snapped over the eels, sending them whimpering back into the Snake’s body.

  Stunned, Japeth swung to his brother sitting next to him, whose gold fingerglow dimmed. Rhian didn’t look at him, his lips twisted, as if suppressing a smile.

  “She needs to be punished!” Japeth demanded.

  Rhian tilted his head, taking in Sophie from a different angle. “You have to admit . . . the dress does look better.”

  Japeth was startled. Then his cheekbones hardened. “Careful, brother. Your horns are growing.” Scims coated Japeth’s face, re-forming his mask. He kicked over his chair, its pattern of Lions skidding across the floor. “Enjoy dinner with your queen,” he seethed, striding out of the room. A scim shot off him and hissed at Sophie, before flying after its master.

  Sophie’s heart throttled as she listened to Japeth’s footsteps fade.

  He’ll have his revenge, she thought. But for now, she had Rhian’s undivided attention.

  “A queen in the castle will take him some getting used to,” said the king. “My brother isn’t fond of—”

  “Strong females?” said Sophie.

  “All females,” said Rhian. “Our mother left that dress for the bride of whichever of us married first. Japeth has no interest in a bride. But he is very attached to that dress.” Rhian paused. “It isn’t poisoned at all, is it?”

  “Touch me and find out,” Sophie replied.

  “No need. I know a liar when I see one.”

  “Mirrors must be especially challenging, then.”

  “Maybe Japeth is right,” said Rhian. “Maybe I should relieve you of that tongue.”

  “That would make us even,” said Sophie.

  “How’s that?” said Rhian.

  “With you missing your soul and all,” said Sophie.

  Silence spread over the hall, cold and thick. Through the wide bay windows, thunderclouds gathered over Camelot village in the valley.

  “Are you going to sit down for dinner or would you like to eat from the horse trough?” the king asked.

  “I’d like to make a deal,” said Sophie.

  Rhian laughed.

  “I’m serious,” Sophie said.

  “You just threatened to poison my brother’s blood and skin him of his suit and then brazenly insulted your king,” said Rhian. “And now you want . . . a deal.”

  Sophie stepped fully into the light. “Let’s be honest. We despise each other. Maybe we didn’t before, when we were eating truffles at enchanted restaurants and kissing in the backs of carriages, but we do now. And yet, we need each other. You need me to be your queen. I need you to spare my friends. Would I rather watch you hacked into dog food? Yes. But in every cloud there’s a silver lining. Because I’ll admit it: I was bored as Dean of Evil. I know I’m an ogre for saying it, but I don’t care if little Drago is homesick or constipated or cheating in Forest Groups. I don’t care if abominable Agnieszka’s warts are contagious, roguish Rowan is kissing girls in the meat locker, or dirty Mali snuck into the Groom Room pool and peed in it. My fairy tale made me more beloved than Sleeping Beauty or Snow White or any of those other snoozy girls. And what diva icon goddess uses her newfound fame to go . . . teach? In theory the idea of devoting myself to a new generation sounded noble, but none of these students are nearly as clever as I am and I was left feeling like a chanteuse playing miles away from the main stage. I’m too young, too alluring, too adored to be out of the spotlight. And now, through a series of rather unfortunate events, voilà, I find myself poised to be queen of the most powerful kingdom in the land. I know it’s not right for me to wear the crown. In fact, it’s positively Evil, especially when I’m taking my best friend’s place. But will I be a good queen? That’s another question entirely. Attending state dinners with exotic kings; negotiating treaties with cannibal trolls; managing armies and alliances; preaching my vision for a better Woods; opening hospitals and feeding the homeless and comforting the poor—I’ll do it all and do it well. That’s why you chose me as your queen. And because my blood has the unfortunate property of keeping your brother alive . . . but you don’t need me as queen for that. You could have chained me up with my friends and bled me at will. No, I think you chose me as a queen because you know I’ll be glorious at it.”

  Rhian parted his lips to speak, but Sophie barreled on.

  “At first, I was going to come down and pretend I’d had a change of heart. That I still love you, no matter what you’ve done. But even I’m not a spry enough actress for that. The truth is, you pulled Excalibur from its stone. That makes you the king. Meanwhile, my friends are either in prison or on the run. So, I have two choices. Resist, knowing my friends will be hurt for it. Or . . . be as good a queen as I can and keep an open mind. Because I heard you say you want to be a good king. And to be a good king, you’ll need a good queen. So here are the terms. You treat me and my friends well, and I’ll be the queen you and Camelot need. Do we have a deal?”

  Rhian picked at his teeth. “You’re fond of the sound of your own voice. I can see why Tedros and every other boy dumped you.”

  Sophie went bright pink.

  “Sit down,” said the king.

  This time she did.

  A maid came in from the kitchen, carrying the next course: fish stew in a red broth. Sophie put a hand to her nose—it smelled like the goo Agatha’s mother once made—but then she saw the maid carrying it was Guinevere, a scim still sealing her lips. Sophie tried to make eye contact, then caught Rhian watching her and she quickly tasted the stew.

  “Mmmm,” she said, trying not to gag.

  “So you think that if you’re a ‘good’ queen, I’ll let your friends go,” said Rhian.

  Sophie looked up. “I never said that.”

  “And if they die?”

  “Murdering my friends will only make people doubt our love and start asking questions. That’s not how you’re going to keep the Woods on your side,” said Sophie, as Guinevere took her time refilling Rhian’s cup, clearly eavesdropping. “That said, if I show you loyalty, I hope you’ll show me loyalty in return.”

  “Define loyalty.”

  “Releasing my friends.”

  “That sounds a lot like letting them go.”

  “They can work in the castle. Under your supervision, of course. The same test you gave the maids.”

  Rhian raised a brow. “You really think I’d free a crew of enemies into my own castle?”

  “You can’t hold them in jail forever. Not if you want me to keep your secrets and play your loyal queen,” said Sophie, well-rehearsed. “And better here in the castle than out in the Woods. Besides, if you and I can come to an agreement, then they’ll come around too. They hated me in the beginning, just like they hate you.” She gave him a practiced smile.

  “And what of Tedros?” Rhian reclined, copper hair catching the light. “He’s condemned to die. The people cheered for it. You think I’ll ‘release’ him too?”

  Guinevere’s fingers shook on the pitcher, nearly spilling it.

  Sophie’s heart pumped faster as she looked up at Rhian, choosing her words carefully. What she said next could save Tedros’ life.

  “Do I think Tedros should die? No,” she said. “Do I think he should die at our wedding? No. Do I think it’s wrong? Yes. That said, you’ve announced your plans . . . and a king can’t very well take back an execution, can he?”

  Guinevere’s eyes flew to Sophie.

  “So you’ll let Tedros die, then,” said the king, skeptical.

  Sophie met his gaze firmly. “If it means saving the rest of my friends, yes. I’m not Tedros’ mother. I won’t go to the ends of the earth to save him. And like you said . . . he dumped me.”

  A raw cry sounded in Guinevere’s throat.

  Sophie kicked her under the table. Guinevere’s face changed.

 
“Since you apparently have nothing to do,” Rhian said, glowering at the maid, “fetch the captain of the guard. I need to speak with him.”

  Guinevere was still searching Sophie’s eyes—

  “Shall we kill your son tonight?” Rhian spat at her.

  Guinevere ran out.

  Sophie probed at her soup, seeing her own face reflected. A drop of sweat plunked into the stew. Did Guinevere understand? If Tedros was going to survive, she needed his mother to do her part.

  Sophie looked up at the king. “So . . . we have a deal? My friends working in the castle, I mean. I could use them for the wedding—”

  Two more maids came out of the kitchens, carrying gruel lumped on brass trays as they headed towards the stairs.

  “Hold,” said Rhian.

  The maids stopped.

  “Those are for the dungeons?” he said.

  The maids nodded.

  “They can wait,” said the king, turning to Sophie. “Like I had to wait for you.”

  The maids took the trays back into the kitchen.

  Sophie stared at him.

  The king smiled as he ate. “Don’t like the soup?”

  Sophie put her spoon down. “The last chef was better. As was the last king.”

  The king stopped smiling. “I proved I’m Arthur’s true heir. I proved I’m the king. And still you side with that fake.”

  “King Arthur would never have a son like you,” Sophie blazed. “And even if he did, there’s a reason he kept you secret. He must have known how you and your brother would turn out.”

  Rhian’s face went murder-red, his hand palming his metal cup as if he might throw it at her. Then slowly the color seeped out of his cheeks and he smiled.

  “And here you thought we had a deal,” he said.

  Now it was Sophie who swallowed her fire.

  If she wanted her friends released, she had to be smart.

  She poked at her soup. “So, what did you do this afternoon?” she asked, a bit too brightly.

  “Wesley and I went to the armory and realized there isn’t an axe sharp enough to cut off Tedros’ head,” said the king, mouth full. “So we considered how many swings it would take to sever through his neck with a dull axe and whether the crowd might cheer harder for that than a clean blow.”