Sophie’s whole body cramped.
“Not yet, sire,” said Kei.
Sophie slumped in relief. She’d yet to find a way to send Agatha a message. All she knew from her Quest Map was that her best friend was still on the run. Inside Sophie’s shoe, her toes curled around her gold vial, out of Rhian’s sight.
“There is a map in the Map Room tracking Agatha’s every move,” the king said to his captain sourly. “How is it that you can’t find her?”
“She’s moving east from Sherwood Forest, but there’s no sign of her on the ground. We’ve increased the size of the reward and recruited more mercenaries to track her, but it’s as if she’s traveling invisibly or by air.”
“By air. Has she hitched herself to a kite?” Rhian mocked.
“If she’s moving east, we think she’s headed towards the School for Good and Evil,” said Kei, unruffled.
The school! Of course! Sophie held in a smile. Good girl, Aggie.
“We’ve sent men to the school, but it appears to be surrounded by a protective shield,” Kei continued. “We’ve lost several men trying to breach it.”
Sophie snorted.
Rhian glanced in her direction and Sophie went mum.
“Find a way to beat the shield,” Rhian ordered Kei. “Get your men inside that school.”
“Yes, sire,” said Kei.
Sophie’s skin went cold. She needed to warn Agatha. Does she still have Dovey’s crystal ball? If she did, maybe they could secretly communicate. Assuming Aggie could figure out how to use it, that is. Sophie had no idea how crystal balls worked. Plus, Dovey’s seemed to have made the Dean gravely ill . . . Still, it might be their best hope. . . .
“One more thing,” Rhian said to Kei. “Do you have what I asked for?”
Kei cleared his throat. “Yes, sire. Our men went from kingdom to kingdom, seeking stories worthy of Lionsmane,” he said, pulling a scroll from his pocket.
“Go on, then,” the king responded.
His captain peered at his scroll. “Sasan Sasanovich, a mechanic from Ooty, has invented the first portable cauldron out of dwarf-bone and demand is so high that there’s a six-month waiting list. They’re called ‘Small-drons.’” Kei looked up.
“Small-drons,” Rhian said, with the same tone he usually reserved for Tedros’ name.
Kei went back to the scroll. “Dieter Dieter Cabbage Eater, the nephew of Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, has been named assistant dumpling chef at Dumpy’s Dumpling House. He will be in charge of all cabbage-based dumplings.”
Kei glanced up. Rhian’s expression hadn’t changed. Kei spoke faster now: “Homina of Putsi chased down a burglar and tied him to a tree with her babushka. . . . A maiden named Luciana created an igloo from cheese rinds in Altazarra to house the homeless from milk monsoons. . . . Thalia of Elderberry came second in the Woods-wide Weightlifting Championships after bench-pressing a family of ogres. . . . A baby son was born to a woman in Budhava after six stillbirths and years of praying. . . . Then there is—”
“Stop,” said Rhian.
Kei froze.
“That woman in Budhava,” said Rhian. “What’s her name?”
“Tsarina, Your Highness,” said Kei.
The king paused a moment. Then he slipped open his suit jacket and Lionsmane floated out of his pocket. The golden pen twirled in the chandelier glow before it began to write in midair, gold dust trailing from its tip, as Rhian directed it with his finger.
Tsarina of Budhava has borne a son after six stillbirths. The Lion answered her prayers.
“Lionsmane’s first tale,” said Rhian, admiring his work.
Sophie guffawed. “That? That’s your first fairy tale? First of all, that’s not a tale at all. It’s barely two lines. It’s a blurb. A caption. A squawk into the night—”
“The shorter the story, the more likely people are to read it,” the king said.
“—and second of all, you couldn’t answer a prayer if you tried,” Sophie spurned. “You had nothing to do with her son!”
“Says your pen, maybe,” Rhian replied. “My pen says that Tsarina of Budhava didn’t have a child until I happened to take the throne. Coincidence?”
Sophie boiled. “More lies. All you do is lie.”
“Inspiring people is lying? Giving people hope is lying?” Rhian retorted. “In the telling of tales, it’s the message that matters.”
“And what’s your message? That there’s no Good and Evil anymore? That there’s only you?” Sophie scoffed.
Rhian turned back to the golden words. “It’s ready for the people—”
Suddenly, the pen reverted midair from gold to a scaly black scim and magically defaced Rhian’s message with splotches of black ink:
“My brother is still upset with me, it seems,” Rhian murmured.
“Japeth’s right. It is weak,” said Sophie, surprised she could ever side with the Snake. “No one will listen to your stories. Because even if a story could be that short, it has to have a moral. Everyone at the School for Good and Evil knows that. The school you want to demolish. Maybe because it’s the school you didn’t get into.”
“Anyone can poke holes in a story who doesn’t have the wits to write their own,” Rhian said defensively.
“Oh please. I or any one of my classmates could write a real fairy tale,” Sophie flung back.
“You accuse me of being self-serving when you’re nothing but an airheaded braggart,” Rhian attacked. “You think you’re so clever because you went to that school. You think you could be a real queen? About as likely as Japeth taking a bride. You couldn’t do any real work if you tried. You’re nothing but shiny hair and a fake smile. A no-trick pony.”
“I’d be a better king than you. And you know it,” Sophie flayed.
“Prove it, then,” Rhian scorned. “Prove you can write this tale better than me.”
“Watch me,” Sophie hissed. She stabbed her fingerglow at Rhian’s story and revised it in slashes of pink under Japeth’s defacements.
Tsarina of Budhava couldn’t have a child. Six times she tried and failed. She prayed harder. She prayed and prayed with all her soul. . . . And this time the Lion heard her. He blessed her with a son! Tsarina had learned the greatest lesson of all: “Only the Lion can save you.”
