Tedros’ eyes bulged. “She was in love with him? Before I was born? But then that means—”
“No, she did not have his child, Tedros,” said Guinevere testily, pulling away. “That’s why I didn’t want to talk about this. Because I knew you’d jump to conclusions. Do you really think I’d keep that secret from you? If I knew you had an elder brother? If I knew you weren’t the rightful king? Your father would have told me. Arthur had his faults, but he was not a liar and he was not a cheat. Which is more than you might say about me. But this is the truth: you are king. No matter what any Snake says.”
Tedros looked down, his crown sinking deeper on his head.
“It’s time you knew the whole story,” Guinevere continued. “I told Arthur to fire Gremlaine, but he wouldn’t. Not that I was worried about Arthur betraying me. He was too honest a man and too in love with me to ever do anything like that. It’s why I know the Snake is lying. Still, I didn’t want to watch Lady Gremlaine continue fawning over him so openly. It was infuriating, for one thing, and for another, people were starting to talk. So I had her moved to the White Tower early in my reign so we would see as little of her as possible. Our paths rarely crossed that year you were born. Even with her out of sight, though, I could feel her lurking, always insinuating herself between your father and I. After you were born, I finally convinced Arthur to let me fire her. It wasn’t easy. . . .”
His mother was still talking, but Tedros felt that slimy feeling in his throat again. “There’s a strange guest room in the White Tower,” he said, interrupting her. “It connects to Lady Gremlaine’s old roo—”
“I’m aware,” said Guinevere, anticipating him. “Your father had it built right after you were born to house a blind seer who painted your coronation portrait and wanted privacy during the week he was painting it. It adjoined to Lady Gremlaine’s in case the seer needed her assistance.” His mother paused. “Even so, there was something about that room I never liked. When the seer left, I made your father give me the only key to it. It’s why you have the key on your ring instead of Lady Gremlaine. All of this means that your father never could have used that room while we were married, Tedros. So whatever theories you’ve conjured in your head, you can let go—”
“Then how did she get in that day?” Tedros asked.
Guinevere’s shadow straightened. “Who?”
“Lady Gremlaine. I was trying to hide from the guards. I locked the door to that room, but somehow she got in. She pretended I hadn’t locked it. But I know I did. She had a key. She had to have had a key.”
Slowly Guinevere turned towards the castle, lit by its faint glow, the tightness in her face returning.
Tedros stared at her. “Mother, where does Lady Gremlaine live?”
Guinevere shook her head. “Nottingham. Tedros, stop. Nothing happened. You’re confusing Lies with Truth,” she said, turning to him. “Focus on finding—”
But her son was already gone, leaping between pools as he ran, like he’d done all those years ago as a child. . . .
Only this time he left his mother behind.
22
AGATHA
The Mysteries of a Name
“Here comes the Prude Brigade,” Sophie groaned, fresh-faced and glowy in a blue-and-gold caftan, her giant hoop earrings shimmering in the afternoon sun. “Just because he kissed me doesn’t mean I have the faintest clue who he is.”
“Because, really, who needs to know who they’re kissing?” Agatha snapped next to her.
“Girls, let’s focus on what’s important,” Professor Dovey frowned, her face magnified inside the bubble over the dining table, wobbling from the ship’s bumpy course. “The Snake is still at large and coming for Camelo—”
“Is it my fault your dear Teddy didn’t show up to save us?” Sophie puffed in Agatha’s direction. “Is it my fault your king is derelict in his duties? Don’t blame me for being swept off my feet by a hero who actually knows how to do his job.”
“We don’t even know who he is! You don’t even know his name!” Agatha blared.
“Does knowing Tedros’ name make him any more competent or useful? No, it doesn’t,” Sophie said, inhaling her rose luxuriously. “Say what you want about your Lion but this Lion adores me, shows up on time, and smells like a red-blooded man.”
“Right, because your nose for men is so reliable!” Agatha barked.
“Keep your voices down!” Professor Dovey said. “The last thing we need is word getting out that while the Woods is crumbling and a villain is on the loose, a Dean of our school is kissing nameless boys!”
“Less a Prude Brigade and more a Prude Police,” Sophie murmured.
Agatha subtly turned her head towards the galley. With all the new questers rescued onto the Igraine after the Four Point battle, the ship’s interior was chock-full. Luckily no one was listening to her and Sophie. Beatrix and Reena were sniffling and writing letters of condolence to Millicent’s relatives, while Dot was at the window whispering to Agatha’s courier crow, which had Camelot’s official ring around its neck. Hester and Anadil were tending to Kiko’s burns, Vex’s mangled ear, and ten other injured questers in a makeshift hospital; bandaged-up Hort was barking at the enchanted pot to make him a sandwich (it made broccoli instead); Nicola was studying Sophie’s Quest Map (that Sophie had let Nicola borrow it at all was proof their friendship had come a long way); and through the bathroom door, Agatha could see Bogden and Willam poring over a round of tarot cards on the floor.
“Agatha’s right. It matters who this boy is,” said Professor Dovey. “Not just because we need him on our side, but also because we need to know what he wants—”
“I told you. He wants me,” said Sophie, still fussing with her rose.
“A boy doing Good deeds to impress an Evil Dean?” Dovey said.
“Good boys love bad girls. Everyone my age knows that,” Sophie bit back.
“If he’s so Good, then why haven’t I seen him before?” Dovey hounded. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a boy in possession of a Good character must want to come to my school. Yet, despite the fact I review thousands of applications for prospective Evers each year, I’ve never seen this ‘Lion’ in my life. And I’ve had a good look at his face—”
The Dean seemed to move her ball because the field of view turned upside down, veering around Sophie’s quarters in the School Master’s tower, which the wolves were violently remodeling while Professor Manley supervised—thankfully Sophie didn’t notice—before the crystal ball settled on the Storian’s painting of a tan, copper-haired boy kissing Sophie.