Читать книгу A Crystal of Time - Soman Chainani, Soman Chainani - Страница 13

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?”

“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.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Sophie croaked, feeling ill. “Anything else?”

“Met with the Kingdom Council. A gathering of every leader in the Woods, conducted via spellcast. I assured them that as long as they support me as king, Camelot will protect their kingdoms, Good and Evil, just as I protected them from the Snake. And that I would never betray them, like Tedros did, when he helped that monster.”

Sophie stiffened. “What?”

“I suggested it was Tedros who likely paid the Snake and his rebels,” said Rhian, clear-eyed. “All those fundraisers his queen hosted . . . Where else could that gold have gone? Tedros must have thought that if he weakened the kingdoms around him, it would make him stronger. That’s why he has to be executed, I told the Council. Because if he is lying about being Arthur’s heir, then he could be lying about everything.”

Sophie was speechless.

“Of course, I personally invited all members of the Kingdom Council to the wedding festivities, beginning with the Blessing tomorrow,” Rhian went on. “Oh, almost forgot. I also proposed demolishing the School for Good and Evil, now that it no longer has its Deans or a School Master.”

Sophie dropped her spoon.

“They voted me down, of course. They still believe in that decrepit School. They still believe the Storian needs to be protected. The School and the Storian are the lifeblood of the Woods, they say.” Rhian wiped his mouth with his hand, streaking red across it. “But I didn’t go to that School. The Storian means nothing to me. And I’m King of the Woods.”

His face changed, the cold sheen of his eyes cracking, and Sophie could see the smolder of resentments beneath.

“But the day will come when every kingdom in the Woods changes its tune. When every kingdom in the Woods believes in a King instead of a School, a Man instead of a Pen . . .” He stared right at Sophie, the outline of Lionsmane pulsing gold through his suit pocket like a heartbeat. “From that day, the One True King will rule forever.”

“That day will never come,” Sophie spat.

“Oh, it’ll come sooner than you think,” said Rhian. “Funny how a wedding can bring everyone together.”

Sophie tensed in her chair. “If you think I’ll be your good little queen while you lie like a devil and destroy the Woods—”

“You think I chose you because you’d be a ‘good’ queen?” Rhian chuckled. “That’s not why I chose you. I didn’t choose you at all.” He leaned forward. “The pen chose you. The pen said you’d be my queen. Just like it said I’d be king. That’s why you’re here. The pen. Though I’m beginning to question its judgment.”

“The pen?” Sophie said, confused. “Lionsmane? Or the Storian? Which pen?”

Rhian grinned back. “Which pen, indeed.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, something sinister and yet familiar, and a chill rippled up Sophie’s spine. As if she had the whole story wrong yet again.

“It doesn’t make sense. A pen can’t ‘choose’ me as your queen,” Sophie argued. “A pen can’t see the future—”

“And yet here you are, just like it promised,” said Rhian.

Sophie thought about something he’d said to his brother . . .

“I know how to get what you want. What we both want.”

“What do you really want with Camelot?” Sophie pressed. “Why are you here?”

“You called, Your Highness?” a voice said, and a boy walked into the dining room wearing a gilded uniform, the same boy Sophie had seen evicting Chef Silkima and her staff from the castle.

Sophie tracked him as he gave her a cursory glance, his face square-jawed, his torso pumped with muscle. He had baby-smooth cheeks and narrow, hooded eyes. Sophie’s first thought was that he was oppressively handsome. Her second thought was that he’d looked familiar when she’d noticed him in the garden, but now she was certain she’d seen him before.

“Yes, Kei,” said Rhian, welcoming the boy into the dining room.

Kei. Sophie’s stomach lurched. She’d spotted him with Dot at Beauty and the Feast, the magical restaurant in Sherwood Forest. Kei had been the newest member of the Merry Men. The traitor who’d broken into the Sheriff’s prison and set the Snake free.

“Have your men found Agatha?” Rhian asked.

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.”

“Takes a queen to do a king’s job,” said Sophie, frost-cold. “A ‘king’ in name only.”

She looked back at Rhian and saw him peering at her intently.

Even the blackened pen seemed to be considering her.

Slowly, the pen magically erased its graffiti, leaving Sophie’s corrected tale.

“Remember Hansel and Gretel?” Rhian said, gazing at her work. “Your pen says it’s about two kids who escape a nasty witch . . . while my pen says it’s about a witch who thinks herself so superior that she’s duped into working against herself.”

Rhian turned his grin on Sophie.

“And so it is written,” the king said to the pen.

Lionsmane coated back to gold, then thrust at Sophie’s tale like a magic wand—

Instantly, the golden message shot through the bay windows and emblazoned high in the dark sky like a beacon.

Sophie watched villagers far in the distance emerge from their houses in the valley to read Lionsmane’s new words, shining against the clouds.

What have I done? Sophie thought.

Rhian turned to his captain. “You’re dismissed, Kei,” he said as Lionsmane returned to the king’s pocket. “I expect Agatha in my dungeon by this time tomorrow.”

“Yes, sire,” said Kei. As he left, he gave Sophie a shifty-eyed look. A look Sophie knew well. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Rhian’s captain had a crush on her . . .

It only made Sophie feel queasier, her eyes roving back to Lionsmane’s first story. She’d come to this dinner hoping to gain the upper hand over a villain. Instead, she’d been tricked into amplifying his lies.

She could see Rhian watching through the window as more of Camelot’s villagers emerged from their houses. These were the same villagers who’d resisted the new king at the morning’s coronation, vocally defending Tedros as the real heir. Now they huddled together and took in the Lion’s tale, quietly reflecting on its words.

Rhian turned to Sophie, looking less a ruthless king and more an enamored teenager. It was the same way he’d looked at her when they first met. When he’d wanted something from her.

“So you want to be a good queen?” said the king cannily. “Then you’ll be writing each and every one of my stories from now on.” He studied her as if she was a jewel in his crown. “The pen chose you wisely after all.”

Sophie’s insides shriveled.

He was ordering her to write his lies.

To spread his Evil.

To be his Storian.

“And if I refuse?” she said, clutching at the side of her dress. “One drop of this iron gall on my skin and—”

“You already stained your wrist when you sat down for dinner,” said Rhian, spearing a piece of squid in his soup. “And you’re as healthy as can be.”

Slowly Sophie looked down and saw the smear of blue on her skin; harmless ink she’d extracted from a quill in the Map Room and dyed with magic.

“Your wizard friend refused to help me too,” said the king. “Sent him on a little trip afterward. Don’t think he’ll be refusing me anymore.”

Sophie’s blood went cold.

In a single moment, she realized she’d been beaten.

Rhian was not like Rafal.

Rhian couldn’t be wheedled and seduced. He couldn’t be manipulated or charmed. Rafal had loved her. Rhian didn’t care about her at all.

She’d come down to dinner thinking she had a hand to play, but now it turned out she didn’t even know the game. For the first time in her life, she felt outmatched.

Rhian watched her with a trace of pity. “You called my story a lie, but it’s already come true. Don’t you see? Only I can save you.”

She met his eyes, trying to hold his stare.

Rhian prowled forward, his elbows on the table. “Say it.”

Sophie waited for the fight to swell inside of her . . . the witch to rear her head. . . . But this time nothing came. She looked down at the tablecloth.

“Only you can save me,” she said softly.

She saw Rhian smile, a lion enjoying his kill.

“Well, now that we’ve made our deal . . . ,” he said. “Shall we have cake?”

Sophie watched the candles in the Lion centerpiece melt wax onto their holders.

Cheap candles, she thought.

Another lie. Another bluff.

A dark flame kindled inside of her.

She still had a bluff to play of her own.

“You think I’m afraid of death? I’ve died before and that didn’t stop me,” she said, standing up. “So kill me. Let’s see if that keeps the Woods on your side. Let’s see if that makes them listen to your pen.”

She swept past him, watching Rhian’s face cloud, unprepared for her move—

“And what if I agree to your terms?” he asked.

Sophie paused, her back to him.

“One person from the dungeons that will serve as your steward, just as you asked,” he said, sounding composed again. “Anyone you like. I’ll free them to work in the castle. Under my supervision, of course. All you have to do is write Lionsmane’s tales.”

Sophie’s heart beat faster.

“Who would you pick to be freed?” Rhian asked.

Sophie turned to him.

“Tedros included?” she asked.

Rhian stretched his biceps behind his head.

“Tedros included,” he said decisively.

Sophie paused. Then she sat back down across from him.

“So I write your stories . . . and you let Tedros go,” she repeated. “Those are the terms?”

“Correct.”

Sophie watched Rhian.

Rhian watched her.

Now I know the game, she thought.

“Well, in that case . . . ,” Sophie said innocently. “I choose Hort.”

Rhian blinked.

Sophie stretched her arms behind her head and held his stunned glare.

It had been a test. A test to make her pick Tedros. A test to call her bluff and prove she could never be loyal. A test to make her his slave from this moment on.

A dirty little test he expected her to fail.

But you can’t beat Evil with Evil.

Which meant now they had a deal.

She would write his stories. Hort would be freed.

Both would be her weapons in time.

Sophie smiled at the king, her emerald eyes aglow.

“I don’t eat cake,” she said. “But tonight I’ll make an exception.”