“Why should we believe you?” Hester yelled as Nevers catcalled—
“Because we have proof.” Professor Sader stepped forward.
Nevers went quiet. Agatha’s eyes widened. Proof? What proof?
Then she noticed Lady Lesso looked especially sour, confirming this proof did in fact exist. Was the proof the answer to the riddle?
“Last but not least,” said Professor Dovey, “the School Master’s primary responsibility is to protect the Storian. For that reason, he remains in his well-fortressed tower. Thus, regardless of the tales you may hear, let me assure you: no student has ever seen the School Master and no student ever will.”
Eyes fell on Agatha.
“Ah, is this the storyteller?” Lady Lesso leered.
“It’s not a story!” Agatha shot back. She saw Sophie shake her head to say this was an ill-advised battle.
Lady Lesso smiled. “I’ll give you one more chance to redeem yourself. Did you meet the School Master?”
Agatha looked at the Evil teacher, purple eyes bulging like marbles. Then at Professor Sader, smiling at her curiously. Then at Sophie across the Clearing, miming wart gluing, mouth zipping . . .
“Yes.”
“You lie to a teacher!” Lady Lesso lashed.
“It’s not a lie!” a voice shouted.
Everyone turned to Sophie. “We were both there! We were in his tower!”
“And I bet you saw the Storian too?” Beatrix sneered.
“Matter of fact, we did!” Sophie retorted to laughter.
“And did it start your fairy tale too?”
“It did! It did start our fairy tale!”
“All hail the Queen of Fools!” Beatrix proclaimed to roars.
“Then you must be the Grand Empress.”
Beatrix turned to Agatha, arms akimbo.
“Ugh. The ‘Mistake,’” Beatrix groaned. “Good has never been so wrong.”
“You wouldn’t know Good if it crawled up your dress!” Agatha yelled.
Beatrix gasped so loudly Tedros cracked a grin.
“Don’t talk to Beatrix that way!” a voice said—
Agatha turned to find blond-haired Tristan—
“Beatrix?” Agatha exploded. “You sure you don’t want Tedros? He’d love to marry himself!”
Tedros stopped smiling. Dumbstruck, he glanced between Agatha, Tristan, Beatrix . . . He lost patience and punched Tristan in the mouth. Tristan drew his dulled training sword, Tedros whipped out his, and they clashed in public duel. But Tristan had been studying Tedros in Swordplay, so they both used the exact same ripostes, the same retreats, even the same fight calls, until no one knew who was who—
Rather than intervene, Swordplay professor Espada twirled his long mustache. “We’ll dissect this thoroughly in class tomorrow.”
The Nevers had a more immediate response.
“FIIIIGGGHHHHHT!” Ravan roared.
Nevers rushed Evers, steamrolled stunned wolves, and dive-bombed into the dueling swordsmen. Whooping Everboys charged in, inciting an epic playground brawl that splattered Evergirls with mud. Agatha couldn’t help but laugh at girls brought to their knees by dirt, until filthy Beatrix pointed at her.
“She started it!”
Screaming Evergirls charged after Agatha, who climbed a tree. Nearby, Tedros managed to reach his head from under boys and saw Sophie spring past. “Help!” he yelled—
Sophie stepped on his head as she ran to help Agatha, who was being pelted with pebbles by Beatrix. Then she caught Hort out of the corner of her eye.
“You! Give me back my wart!”
Hort scooted around the brawling mass, Sophie in pursuit, until she got close enough to pick up a fallen branch and hurl it at his head—Hort ducked and it hit Lady Lesso in the face.
Students froze.
Lady Lesso touched her cold, gashed cheek. Staring at the blood on her hand, she grew eerily calm.
Her long red nail rose and pointed at Agatha.
“Lock her in her tower!”
A swarm of fairies seized Agatha and dragged her past smirking Tedros towards the Evers’ tunnel—
“No, it’s my fault!” Sophie cried—
“And this one.” Lady Lesso stabbed her bloodstained finger at Sophie. “To the Doom Room.”
Before Sophie could scream, a claw covered her mouth and pulled her past petrified classmates into the darkness of trees.
Sophie couldn’t live through torture! Sophie couldn’t survive true Evil!
As fairies flew her upstairs, Agatha welled panicked tears and glanced down to see teachers surging into the foyer.
“Professor Sader!” she cried, clinging to a banister. “You have to believe us! The Storian thinks Sophie’s a villain! It’s going to kill her!”
Sader and twenty teachers looked up, alarmed—
“How do you see our village?” Agatha yelled as fairies wrested her away. “How do we get home? What does a princess have that a villain doesn’t!”
Sader smiled. “Questions. Always in threes.”
Teachers chuckled and dispersed. (“Seen the Storian?” Espada mused. “She’s the one who eats candy,” Professor Anemone explained.)
“No! You have to save her!” Agatha begged, but the fairies dragged her to her room and locked her in.
Frantic, she scaled her bed canopy past paintings of lip-locked heroes and lunged for the broken ceiling tile. . . . But it wasn’t broken anymore. Someone had sealed it tight.
Blood drained from Agatha’s cheeks. Sader was her only hope and he refused to answer questions. Now her only friend would die in that dungeon, all because a magic pen had mistaken a princess for a witch.
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