The Last Ever After (34 page)

“Oh eat my dust, will you!” Hort barked. “You know full well you're impressed by what you see!”

Agatha wiped her eyes. “Oh, Hort. One day people will read our fairy tale and you'll be the one they love the most.”

She started walking away.

“I didn't lose my clothes this time! I
gave
them to her!” he called out. “And I'll have my own fairy tale, one day. With a happy ending and everything. I can prove it—”

“Really? How's that?”

“'Cause I found something you won't believe.”

Agatha stopped walking and turned.

The weasel flashed a wicked grin. “Want to see?”

Sophie had been standing next to Tedros in the oak grove for nearly ten minutes, but the prince didn't say a word. He was staring at a beautiful glass cross, rising out of the ground between two trees. Garlands of fresh white roses draped the cross, along with a small glowing five-pointed star resting against the base. There were more of these five-pointed stars around it, ashy and burnt-out, as if Merlin returned to lay a new star whenever the old had grown cold.

Sophie nuzzled into Tedros' side. “Is this where your father's buried? It's pretty.”

Tedros turned to her. “Sorry, do you mind if I do this alone?”

Sophie scalded pink. “Of course—I-I-I'll see you at the house—” She spun on her heel, tripping over a dimmed star, and bungled out of the grove.

“Sophie?”

She looked back at the prince.

“Thanks for checking on me,” he said.

Sophie nodded briskly and hurried away.

Without the light of Merlin's star, she couldn't see anything outside now, except the outlines of the house a quarter of a mile away. She tromped across the moors, cheeks still simmering.

Everyone had made her so frantic about the ring, so guilt-ridden and jittery, that she'd only been focused on getting Tedros' kiss as fast as she could. She'd forgotten her prince wasn't a prize to be won or a finish line she could barrel through. Had she even considered how he was feeling? Tedros was trapped indefinitely with the mother who'd abandoned him and the lover she'd chosen to spend her life with instead. How could he possibly look at Guinevere, let alone talk to her, let alone stay in her house, without wanting to kill her? Especially since it was completely within his
right
to kill her, according to his father's decree?

Sophie shook her head, mortified. Tedros was probably dying inside, his heart shredded by emotion, and she'd floated in like a gas bubble to tell him his father's grave was
pretty
.

Agatha would never have been so selfish or stupid.

Sophie sighed dismally as she neared the farmhouse. She'd set out on this journey to rewrite her fairy tale, only to repeat the mistakes she'd made the first time. Tedros couldn't be
pushed or rushed or wheedled into a kiss. Even back on the trail, she'd been the one who tried to kiss him, which was no doubt one of the reasons why it hadn't worked. Her prince had to come to
her
. Until then, she'd wait patiently, even if heroes were being slaughtered, even if the sun was drip, drip, dripping until they all dropped dead.

Sophie gritted her teeth. If heroes were dying, it wasn't
her
fault, was it? Wasn't it a hero's
job
to win their story, even if it was happening the second time around? Why should she take the blame if they got old and useless? Let them take care of their stories and she'd take care of hers.

Because this was her fairy tale.

This was her happy ending.

And this time she was getting it right.

She pulled off her dirty shoes as she came up the porch. They'd all appreciate her in the end, of course—once she'd sealed her Ever After with her prince and relighted the sun.
Everybody
would win because of her hard work. In the meantime, Tedros could have all the space he needed. She'd be a patient ear to him, a perfect guest to her hosts, a good friend to Agatha: helpful, convivial, polite, like the girl who once kept track of her Good Deeds. With a deep breath, Sophie arranged her face into a smile and pushed her way into the house, fluttering back towards the dining room—

She stopped cold.

Lancelot was alone at the table, eating an apple.

“W-w-where's everyone else?” she asked.

“Gwen is cleaning up and Horbst went to check on Agatha.”
He chomped into the apple and slid her a cup of smoky red-brown liquid. “Gwen made a pot of her famous licorice tea.”

Sophie turned for the door. “I should see if they're okay—”

“You're scared of me, aren't you? Been giving me cagey looks all night.”

Sophie froze. Lancelot was staring at the ring on her finger as if he'd noticed it for the first time.

“They'll find their way home, I'm sure,” he said. “Sit and have your tea.”

His tone left little doubt as to her options. Sophie sat opposite him, her stomach queasy.

“Guinevere was just touting what a perfect queen you'll make for the young prince. The kind who'd make Arthur proud.” Lancelot bit into his apple, studying Sophie.

“Funny thing, actually. You see, every Christmas, Merlin comes to the house to give Gwen news of her son. Last year, I remember he told us Tedros had found the princess of his dreams. Thoughtful, fiery, compassionate girl . . . a soul of pure Good, who loved him as much as he loved her. Only I could have sworn the name of that princess didn't sound anything like ‘Sophie' at all. Lousy with names so I knew I must have remembered it wrong. Gwen never misses a thing, so I mentioned it to her just now in the kitchen, figuring she'd set me straight. Strange, though. Gwen said I was
right
: Merlin had named Tedros' princess as ‘Agatha,' but even Gwen agreed the old codger was losing grip on that famous brain of his, 'cause clearly
Sophie
was the one who was the boy's princess. Not just from the way you went after him at dinner, but Gwen
noticed you had Tedros' name tattooed on your finger, which also happened to be bearing Tedros' ring.”

Lancelot's dark pupils glinted. “Only now that I'm seeing it, I'm wondering how Tedros could give you a ring made of Evil's gold.”

Sophie's heart hammered, like an alarm set off.

“Black-swan gold, to be exact,” said Lancelot. “Every black swan has a single gold tooth at the back of its mouth—gold which has nefarious properties when it touches human skin. Since the very first tale, black-swan gold has been hunted by Nevers as a powerful weapon, the same way Good has long sought steel from the Lady of the Lake. For centuries, Evil murdered these swans and plundered their gold, killing every last one. Still, Evil had all the black-swan gold it could ask for . . . before King Arthur led his knights on a quest to destroy it. A quest on which I rode by Arthur's side, finding and smashing treasure after treasure, until there wasn't a shred of black-swan gold left in the Endless Woods.” Lancelot grinned. “Except, it seems, for the one circling your finger.”

Sophie stood up. “It's dark out there—I should check on Tedros—”

“The effects of black-swan gold are unmistakable,” Lancelot went on. “Once you wear it upon your skin, it commits your heart to Evil, no matter how hard you try to be Good. It is like a wicked compass that steers you towards sin, without you even realizing it. Wear it long enough and it will convince you it knows the secret of your Ever After . . . that it knows what your heart really wants . . . that it can even
prove
who your true love
is. Ask it a name and the magic ring will carve the answer you seek upon your skin, like a guiding light—but that answer will only lead you right back to Evil, where you began.”

Sophie was numb now, trapped in her chair.

“Stories go wrong when people think their own happiness is bigger than anyone else's,” said Lancelot. “Arthur knew Guinevere loved me, and still he put a ring on her finger, even knowing she wouldn't be happy as his queen. In the end he left the wreckage of a family and two
real
loves exiled forever. I, too, lost a best friend, for Arthur was like a brother to me. But at least Gwen and I live the truth now. We have each other, as it should have been from the beginning. What does Arthur have? He's dead and his queen's ring long destroyed, for Guinevere couldn't wear a ring that didn't belong to her in the first place. Not when she belonged with someone else.”

Sophie saw Lancelot staring harder.

“Which begs a question of our queen-to-be,” he said, rising from his seat. He put his big, meaty hands on the table and leaned towards her. “You're wearing a ring that doesn't belong to your prince, young Sophie . . .”

The dark knight drew closer, closer, until Sophie saw his devilish, cold-eyed face reflected in the gold on her finger.

“So who do
you
belong with?”

The door swung open and Guinevere came in, with a small basket.

“Oh! Sophie, thank goodness. I put some turkey and greens in here for Tedros. He'll eat it if you give it to him, surely. I don't want him to go hungry tonight on my account—”

Sophie didn't hear words, only blood throbbing in her ears.

“I know what you must think of me, Sophie, all of it deserved,” said Guinevere quietly, seeing her face. “Just know that if he never forgives me, if he never speaks a word to me again . . . I'm thankful he's found his true love. Merlin told us how much Tedros fought for his princess—how much
both
of you fought to be together. So I can be at peace, knowing my son won't repeat my mistakes.” Guinevere smiled at the ring on Sophie's finger. “Because both of your hearts only wish for each other.”

She stroked Sophie's cheek and left the basket in her shaking hands.

As Sophie watched Tedros' mother return to the kitchen, she glanced back sickly at Lancelot—

But the knight was gone, as if it'd all been a dream.

“What is it?” Agatha asked, trying to track Hort's muscled frame in the dark. “What'd you find?”

“You'll see. You all think I'm such a weenie. Big mistake,” said Hort, itching at his long underpants as they treaded deep into the oak grove. “Huge.”

Squinting back at the house's lit windows, Agatha could see Sophie and Lancelot talking in the dining room. She turned to Hort. “Wait, this doesn't involve you turning into a werewolf, does it? You never last more than ten seconds—”

“
Man
-wolf. And it's
better
than that. Trust me. Besides, haven't practiced my talent in a while, so I only last five seconds now. I don't get it. How do other man-wolves last so long? Is
there some special diet or potion for stamina? I asked Professor Sheeks, but she sent me to the Doom Room for being cheeky.”

Agatha followed Hort towards the sparkle of a pond at the grove's edge, reflecting the moonlit mirage of Gavaldon.

“Now that Sophie's not with the School Master anymore, how can he still win your fairy tale?” Hort asked, studying the outlines of the town. “Doesn't he need love on his side?”

“That's the odd thing. He hasn't chased her even though he can't win without her,” Agatha answered as they stopped at the pond's edge. “He admitted it to me himself. That's why he needs her as his queen so badly. She's Evil's only hope to win.”

“Then he's too late.”

Agatha stomach plummeted. “Oh . . . so Tedros might, um . . . kiss her? N-n-not that I care. But you were on the trail with them, so I'm just curious how they were getting alon—”

“I wasn't talking about Tedros,” said Hort.

Agatha saw him grin down at his reflection in the pond and she rolled her eyes. “Oy, Weasel Boy, if you brought me out here to ogle you in a mirror—”

But now she saw what he was looking at, shimmering deep beneath the surface . . . small bullets of light, shooting upwards like a comet tail, getting closer, closer, until a thousand tiny white fish splashed through, spitting streams of water.

“Wish Fish? You found
Wish Fish
?” Agatha said, wiping her face and kneeling at the shore. “Princess Uma taught us about them first year!”

“Told you it was better than a man-wolf. Touch the water and they'll dig into your soul and find your greatest wish,” said
Hort. “Nevers were supposed to do the lesson the day after the Evers did it, but then you set the fish free, started an animal stampede, and nearly burned down the castle. School didn't get new Wish Fish after that.”

Agatha stroked the bobbing mouths of the little white fish, feeling their tickly kisses. “Suppose these want to be set free too?”

Yet as she gazed into their big, black eyes, she didn't see any traces of the same yearning. “I used to be able to hear wishes,” she said to Hort. “Maybe I lost my talent like you.”

“Or maybe they've just been fish too long to remember they were once human,” said the weasel. “In any case, I'm going first.”

He stuck his finger in the water.

Instantly, the fish zipped off in different directions, turning black, silver, and gold, as they assembled themselves into a picture. For a moment, Agatha had no clue what she was seeing, until suddenly the mosaic of fish clarified, as if coming into focus, and she raised her brows in surprise.

The fish had drawn Hort and Sophie's sunlit wedding at the edge of a lake as a mob of well-wishers cheered them on. Both the bride and groom wore black, the only concession to the fact this was an Evil occasion as opposed to a Good one.

“It's lovely, Hort,” Agatha said, feeling let down, “but it's just your wish—”

“That's what I thought,” Hort replied, “until I saw
that
.”

He pointed to the corner of the fish's painting, where two guests holding hands—a teenage boy and girl—looked
happiest of all for the new couple. The boy had a crown of silver and diamonds upon his golden head. The girl wore a matching crown in her black hair.