Quests for Glory (The School for Good and Evil: The Camelot Years #1)

“What do you mean?”

“Just because Lady Gremlaine knows the Truth doesn’t mean she’ll tell the Truth. Look at your own father. Every girl at school was in love with Arthur. Every single one. They all wanted to be his queen. But not Guinevere. That didn’t stop him from loving her, of course. Still, he knew she didn’t love him, even if she never revealed this Truth to him herself. But I did: I told Arthur that Gwen didn’t love him, because it was obvious to both of us that she was in love with me. Yet, no matter how much Arthur valued the Truth, in this one case, the Truth wasn’t good enough for him. He thought Camelot needed Guinevere. He thought having her as queen would make him a better king. It didn’t matter that she didn’t love him. If he could bend this Truth through sheer force of will . . . it would mean all his doubts about his being chosen king were wrong. That he deserved to be Good’s leader because he knew how to put Good first.” The knight gazed squarely at Tedros. “That’s how I know for sure there was nothing between your father and Lady Gremlaine. Because King Arthur staked everything on his love for Guinevere. Everything. And it’s why he lost everything when she left.”

Tedros shook his head, riling up. “But that’s your side of the story. It’s the side you tell yourself to feel better about taking my mother away from my father. It’s the side that makes my father look like the villain. But what if there’s another side? What if Arthur knew you and my mother were secretly seeing each other and so he took revenge with Lady Gremlaine? Or what if my father sensed my mother didn’t love him and began to fall in love with his steward instead? Or what if my father made one bad decision . . . had one bad night—”

“All of these are possible,” said the knight. “But beware trying to bend the Truth to fit your story instead of facing it head-on. That was your father’s mistake. And that’s how a Snake becomes a Lion and a Lion becomes a Snake. Because the more you bend the Truth to fit a story, the more it turns into Lies without you even realizing it.”

“Says the one who traded in Lies,” Tedros replied.

Lancelot went quiet.

“After a successful battle or war, it is tradition for a king to exchange gifts with his best knight in front of the kingdom,” he said. “Arthur and I always gave each other the same gifts. I kneeled before Arthur’s queen and kissed her hand in tribute. And in return, Arthur offered me anything on earth a king could provide a man.”

“What did you ask for?” Tedros said.

“Always the same. Nothing at all,” said Lancelot. “I’d already taken from him everything a man could take. My gift was meant to tell him that.”

He looked at Arthur’s son. “Is it really a Lie if someone is unwilling to see the Truth?”

Now it was Tedros who fell silent.

Lancelot cleaned up the remains of their food and drank from his water jug. “I spoke to a few of the leaders in the castle as the guards took them to their rooms. They mentioned something about the Snake having a powerful suit of armor made out of living eels—‘scims,’ he calls them. They think that there’s a connection between these scims and the Snake’s life force. That there’s magic in his blood. But they also say the scims can be killed. Kill enough of them and you can penetrate the Snake’s flesh.”

“So he’s just as mortal as you and me, then,” said Tedros, looking Lance in the eye. “See, he’s someone’s son after all.”

“Well, then seeing as this Snake and his minions are still on the loose, if anyone asks who you are while we’re in Nottingham, you’re someone’s son too,” said the knight, pulling the young king to his feet.

“Whose?” Tedros asked, confused.

Lancelot grinned as he walked towards the horses. “Mine.”

Soon they reached the entrance point to Nottingham: an imposing, sooty, black-brick jail at the top of a hill and a gleaming bronze statue of the Sheriff in front of it.

“The Land of Law and Order,” Lancelot muttered, eyeing the WELCOME sign down the slope, with a cartoon of the Sheriff chasing Robin Hood. “Any kingdom that promises Law and Order surely has neither.”

From the hillcrest, Lancelot could see the lush outskirts of Sherwood Forest a mile north and steered his horse towards it— “This way,” Tedros corrected, riding his horse away from the Forest and towards the center of town.

“Don’t be a fool. The second we cross into Sherwood Forest, we’ll be safe for the night,” Lancelot scolded, nosing his horse next to the king’s. “We left Camelot so that you could meet the Lion boy. And that’s the only reason we left.”

“We still have two hours until I have to be at Marian’s Arrow.”

“Do you even know where Gremlaine lives?”

“I’ll ask someone.”

“We haven’t seen a soul.”

“I’ll figure it out—”

“It’s an unnecessary risk, Tedros.”

“It’s something I have to do.” Tedros held firm.

Lancelot exhaled.

It was midafternoon in Nottingham, but there wasn’t a person to be found in the square, the only sound the out-of-rhythm clop of the two men’s horses. Lancelot peered around at the closed shops and empty streets.

“No animals,” he said. “First sign of trouble.”

Tedros wasn’t listening. He’d spotted something in the window of the Sheriff’s Blotter: a copy of the latest Royal Rot, with a headline about Lady Gremlaine above the fold. He couldn’t read the full article from outside the window, so he punched in the corner of the glass pane and pulled the paper out.

“So much for Law and Order,” mumbled Lancelot.

Tedros scanned the story—

Has Lady Gremlaine been fired from Camelot for a second time? Fifteen years ago, King Arthur’s once-steward was exiled from the castle by Guinevere (rumor has it for being too chummy with the king, which both Lady Gremlaine and Guinevere have vehemently denied). But in an ironic twist, Guinevere’s son Tedros—our so-called new “King”—latched on to Lady Gremlaine as his own steward, just like his father once did. However, the last two nights, Lady Gremlaine has been seen in her hometown of Nottingham by numerous observers. Said Bertie, an attendant at the Nottingham Prison: “No one’s been in the house at 246 Morgause Street for several years now, but neighbors sayin’ that haughty woman’s back.”

We asked Bertie: Could she be in Nottingham to visit family?

“She ain’t got no family here,” Bertie replied.

What about a vacation?

“No one vacations in Nottingham except stupid tourists thinking they might see Robin Hood.”

So what’s Bertie’s conclusion?

“She ran afoul of the king and came back to lick her wounds. Good place to hide your face, Nottingham. No one’s gonna find ya here except nosy neighbors.”

And the Royal Rot, of course. Stay tuned as we pursue an exclusive interview with the “King’s” (disgraced?) steward.



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