It was the first time Tedros had ever seen Sir Lancelot afraid.
Slowly the scims congealed into the Snake, his green mask glinting in the last of daylight, the scims on his body slithering and hissing. He took hold of Lancelot’s sword and held it to the knight’s neck.
The Snake raised his eyes to Tedros.
“Hello, Brother,” he said.
Tedros couldn’t breathe. “Listen to me. It’s me you want. Not him. Please . . . let’s finish this once and for all.”
“This?” The Snake glared hatefully at the king. “This is just the beginning.”
He slashed Lancelot’s throat.
“No!” Tedros screamed.
The Snake fractured into scims and flew away, letting the knight’s bloody sword clink to the street.
Tedros sprinted to Lancelot, catching him as he fell. Blood gushed from the knight’s neck. Tedros ripped off Lance’s shirt to seal the wound, the knight’s blood soaking through Tedros’ black coat.
“I’m . . . fine . . . ,” Lance wheezed. “I’ll . . . live. . . .”
“Why you—” Tedros sobbed, holding the knight in his arms. “Why not me—it’s me he wants—”
Overhead, glowing sparks flew into the sky and Tedros whirled to see them coming from the next street.
He recognized the glow colors: Hester’s . . . Dot’s. . . .
Then more.
Sophie’s . . .
Agatha’s.
Lancelot saw it too.
“Go,” the knight whispered. “He’ll . . . hurt her. . . .”
“No, I won’t leave you,” Tedros fought. “I’ll find help—I’ll get you home—”
Lancelot smiled peacefully. “I’ll be here . . . right here when you return. . . .”
“No—please—”
“Kill him, Tedros . . . for me. For Camelot.”
Tedros hugged Lancelot with all his might, unable to let go. “This is my fault. I should have never brought you here.”
“Our story brought us here for a reason. Agatha needs you, Tedros. Like Gwen needed me,” the knight whispered.
Tedros choked up.
“Go,” said Lancelot. “Before it’s too late.”
With a cry, Tedros released him and ran into the streets, trying not to look back.
He’ll live . . . , he told himself, smearing tears. He’ll live. . . .
But inside, the young king knew the truth.
25
AGATHA
Date Night in Sherwood Forest
Agatha stood at the edge of a high, domed treehouse, lit by blue and purple lanterns, gazing out at the labyrinth of other colorfully lit treehouses, connected to hers via bridges, swings, and ropes. She could see into each of these houses, watching her fellow crew members rest after Sir Lancelot’s and Lady Gremlaine’s burials, either taking naps, quietly talking, or slipping in to shower in the private barrels that hung off each house. But Agatha just stood there, unable to move or even cry, having shed all her tears at the funeral.
It was only seven o’clock, a full night ahead.
And yet, it felt like an ending.
“Not quite a castle, I’m afraid,” said a voice below her.
Agatha glanced down at a shadow climbing the tree, wearing a green coat and a brown cap speared with a green feather. He paused on the branch below the door and looked up at her, his face coming into the light.
“But still . . . it’s home,” said the man.
He was as old as Sophie’s father, but he had a baby face, with clean-shaven pink skin, save a red-brown tuft beneath his lip that matched his mop of wavy hair.
“Better than a castle, to be honest,” said Agatha, holding down a fresh wave of tears. “Especially when we’re about to go back to that castle with a Good man gone.”
“Might seem that way, but men like Sir Lancelot never really are gone,” said the stranger. “He’s a legend. And legends grow bigger with time. Or at least that’s what I tell myself these days whenever I meet young ones like you who have no idea who I am.”
“Even the dimmest Readers know who Robin Hood is,” Agatha said, forcing a smile.
“And even the dimmest heroes know The Tale of Sophie and Agatha,” said Robin Hood. “Though I do wish we could have met under better circumstances.”
Agatha felt the stone lid on her emotions crumble. She smeared at her wet eyes. “Guinevere . . . What will she do . . .”
From his rucksack, Robin pulled a metal flask. “Gold-leaf tea. Cures every ailment, including a crap day and crap days to come,” he said, holding it out. “Dot just helped me make a fresh brew. Made with real gold that I rob from rich, miserable people who don’t even know what gold is good for.”
Agatha took a big swig. “Tastes like . . . chocolate,” she sniffled.
“Like I said: Dot helped me make it,” Robin sighed. “Mind if I come in? Marian insists she left an earring and better I find it than have her looking for it herself.”
“By all means,” said Agatha, mustering composure as he swung through the door. “I can’t thank you enough for letting us stay here.”
“We knew all about the Snake and that business at the Four Point, but there’s a reason I ain’t in the League of Thirteen. We Merry Men keep our noses out of other kingdoms’ affairs and they stay outta ours in return—especially since we’ve started raiding rich folks beyond Nottingham,” said Robin, scavenging near a wall decorated with newspaper clippings touting his various robberies and escapes. “But then I got the message from Dot via a crow with Camelot’s official ring around its neck. That got my attention. Oh look, found it—” He held up a pearl earring. “Actually, this ain’t hers,” he mumbled, and started searching inside leather quivers filled with arrows. “Sherwood Forest ain’t the most welcoming to strangers, especially a crew with a bunch of Nevers, but we’ll do anything for Camelot and for Dot. Camelot because King Arthur once saved us from a villain called the Green Knight. And Dot because . . . well, Dot’s like a daughter. Her dad will say that’s a lie. That I just used her to escape jail. But her dad’s about as fit to be a dad as I’m fit to be a husband. That’s what I tell Marian at least.” He winked at Agatha. “Jackpot!” He glided past her and picked a gold earring out of the gap between two wooden planks on a wall. “This is definitely it . . . maybe.”