It didn’t move.
He shoved Lionsmane into his furs and yanked the sword again, this time with both fists, only to suffer the same result. Sweat soaked his forehead. He raised his eyes to the sky, where King Arthur’s voice had spoken. . . .
“Two kings?” he shouted mockingly. “What dirty trick is this? I pulled Excalibur from the stone. I am the king! Who dares to claim a second?”
A watery orb slammed into the king, then another, bashing him off the stone. The bubbles expanded, two tiny figures growing taller within, rising to full size before they thrust out their hands, peeled their way through watery walls, and left the bubbles behind. Tedros strode atop the stone mountain, muscles clinging to his wet shirt, his princess at his side.
“Me,” he declared. “And the only trick is how that sword ever came to a Snake in the first place.”
Arthur’s son raised his hand into the moon’s beam, the silver ring stealing its light.
“The last ring lives. Camelot’s ring. My father’s ring,” he thundered, resounding across the castle grounds. “I am the heir. I am the king.”
The people of the Woods held their breath, their heads whipping between two defiant kings. Sophie, too, stayed still, even though her body told her to run to her groom’s side . . . to her king. . . . On her knees in shredded roses, she glanced at Kei, who had that same haunted look he’d had in the castle. Slowly, Sophie’s eyes went back to Tedros atop the stone. Kei knew this boy . . . and so did she. . . .
Tedros glared his rival down. “You heard the king. Excalibur is returned to the stone. The crown no longer belongs to you,” he slashed. “Three tests. The sword crowns the winner. No more games. No more lies. . . . Let the tournament begin.”
Flat on his stomach, “Rhian” peered up at the prince, a hint of fragility in his face. A sliver of fear.
Then it was gone.
He spun to Kei.
“Kill him,” he ordered.
Kei’s gaze hardened. He and the pirates launched for Tedros—the ring on the prince’s finger shot a blast of light, reforming the protective bubble, trapping Tedros inside. The prince whirled to Agatha: “Get Sophie!”
But Agatha was already gone from his wing, surging for her best friend and tackling Sophie into her arms. White and black dresses coalesced, like the intermingling of two swans. The girls’ eyes locked, dark and light, an eternal connection made. Good and Evil. Boy and Girl. Old and Young. Truth and Lies. Past and Present. Sophie gasped, the color in her cheeks returning, the fire in her eyes pouring forth—
It dampened, like a door slammed shut. Sophie grabbed Agatha by the neck and threw her to the ground.
Lifting her head, Agatha saw the two Mistral Sisters on a staircase behind Sophie, directing their hands, puppeteering her best friend’s moves. Sophie grabbed a slab of frozen ice, jagged like a dagger. Grinning, the Mistrals swung their palms. Sophie pounced for Agatha, the ice knife plunging for her best friend’s chest—
The ice knife trapped in a wall of water, a hair’s width from Agatha’s heart.
For a moment, all Agatha could hear were her own shallow breaths, the hammer of her blood. She felt her prince’s arms drag her back, the two of them safe in the Wish Fish bubble, Arthur’s ring glowing on Tedros’ hand like a talisman. Behind the bubble, a portal opened, revealing the gray waters of a lake . . . its vast, snowy shores . . . three shadows in the distance. . . .
But Tedros’ gaze was still on Sophie through the bubble, her teeth bared like a rabid animal’s, her fist tearing the ice knife into the watery wall again and again, yielding only the tiniest crack.
“Rhian” gently clasped her from behind, staying his princess’s hand. Sophie gazed up at him, starry-eyed with love once more, fully under his spell.
Tears rolled down Agatha’s cheeks. “What have you done to her! You monster! You creep! What have you done to my friend!”
The boy ignored her, his eyes on Tedros. An eel curled off his wedding robe, so small that no one in the audience noticed as it slithered through the crack Sophie had made in the bubble—
Tedros instantly snatched it into his fist.
But now the eely scim was speaking with the Snake’s voice, so only the prince and Agatha could hear. . . .
“Your weak magic can’t protect you from what’s coming,” the scim taunted. Outside the bubble, his master leered at Tedros. “You sniveling coward. You pretty-faced fool. You’re no one’s leader. No one in the Woods is on your side. And now you think you can win a fight against me?”
“A fair fight, yes,” Tedros flared, glowering back at his nemesis. “As for the Woods, soon they’ll know that their ‘king’ isn’t who he says he is.”
“Oh?” said the scim. “Let’s see if they believe anything you have to say. Tedros the rebel. Tedros the Snake.”
“I don’t need to say a word. They’ll know when Excalibur takes your head,” the prince seethed, crushing the eel harder. “I’ll finish the tests first. I’ll win the tournament. The sword will crown me.”
“Like it did last time? It will never let you be king because you have nothing in you that is a king. Nothing.”
Tedros vibrated with anger. “I am Arthur’s son. I am his heir.”
“There is only one ending to your tale,” said the eel coolly. “You dead and forgotten. That ring in my hands. The Storian’s powers mine. You and those you love . . . erased.”
“Catch you at the finish,” Tedros vowed.
“Rhian” didn’t flinch. “I’ll kill you long before.”
Tedros glared into his black pupils. “I see you, Japeth. Like your brother surely did before you murdered him and stole his name. I can believe Rhian was Arthur’s son. At least he had a soul. At least he wanted to do Good. But how can a beast like you be my brother? How can filth like you be my father’s child?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” the scim replied.
The Snake grinned, his face pressing to the prince’s against the slim ball of water, his voice inside a poisoned whisper. . . .
“I’m not.”
The words slammed Tedros like a kick to the chest. He killed the scim and smashed it to goo as he choked out a breath—“Who are you?”—but Agatha was pulling him back through a portal, lake water flooding his lungs, the prince’s question echoing again and again into the dark, dark deep.
5
AGATHA
A Snow of Scrolls
Her best friend had tried to kill her before.
Their first year at school.
And again during the third.
Sophie was a witch, after all, and Agatha a princess.
But this time was different, Agatha thought, clawing through water, running out of breath. Because whoever just tried to kill her on the other side of the portal . . . That wasn’t Sophie.
Agatha tore through the surface, gulping air. She searched the lake for Tedros, her eyes flooding with water before she spotted three shadowy figures on Avalon’s shore, shouting out to her—
But Agatha was already back under, prowling through gray depths for her prince. She’d been gripping on to him . . . then suddenly she wasn’t, distracted by her fears for Sophie . . .