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

“Where will you and your men sleep tonight?” Agatha asked. “We’ve put you out of your houses—”

“Ha! Don’t you worry about us. Pity the lad who sleeps too often in his own bed. We’ll go to the Arrow and see where the night takes us . . . ,” said Robin, smelling dirty shirts in the hamper until he found one clean enough to wear. He crumpled it into his pocket. “And don’t you worry about that Snake either. He’s still cooped up in the Sheriff’s magic catching sack and locked in a jail cell, while three of my men sit in front of that cell the whole night, armed with bows. Sheriff’s in the clinic—won’t be walkin’ for a few days—and with the Sheriff gone, it was easy to pay Bertie off to skip town. Dot has the only key to that jail and she’s here in the Forest, with zero chance to mess things up, because let’s face it: Dot has that capability. To keep her occupied, I arranged a date between her and the newest member of the Merry Men, who is clean as a whistle and about her age, so tonight she and the rest of you can kick back and relax. Then tomorrow, you and your lot will return to Camelot and argue with the other rulers of the Woods over who gets to cut off the reptile’s head.” He looked back at Agatha. “I’d go with one of the Never kings if I were you. Good at executions.”

He jaunted towards the door. “I’m serious about kicking back, though. Go enjoy Sherwood Forest. Hell of a lot better than Nottingham. I’ll be at the Arrow if you need me—”

“Robin?”

“Mmm?” he said, turning.

“You sure it’s safe here?” Agatha said, her eyes puffy and red, looking out at the open treehouses glowing in the middle of a dark Forest. “I know it is, of course. . . . It’s just after the last few days . . .”

Robin Hood put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Trap nets exploded from every direction, swooping down between houses, along with snapping bear traps, booby-trapped tree trunks, ricocheting swords, and a hailstorm of arrows, slicing through the darkness and embedding in doors. Spooked crew members looked out their windows. Hort stirred from a nap.

“False alarm!” Robin called.

Everyone grumbled and went back to what they were doing.

Robin smiled at Agatha. “Go. Enjoy the night. Sometimes when things get too dark, we need help remembering why life’s worth living.”

“I don’t think I can,” Agatha rasped. “Not tonight.”

“Don’t do it for you, pumpkin,” Robin said. “Do it for him.”

Agatha followed his eyes out the window to the hill where she and the crew had just returned from, moonlight casting down on a row of graves . . .

And a boy in a blood-soaked shirt, standing in front of the newest ones.

Lancelot and Lady Gremlaine had been buried at sunset, when Sherwood Forest had the humid, heavy scent of a jungle. But now that it was dark, Agatha’s route back to the gravesite felt new, as if the Forest only came alive at night. Fairy girls in green dresses and fluorescing pink wings poked their heads out of tree holes, tittering: “That’s Sophie’s friend!” “Oooh, we love Sophie!” “Who’s Sophie?” “The one with pretty clothes!” “Didn’t Sophie kill fairies?” “I heard the Storian got that part wrong!” A trollcat bobbed his head out of branches to see what the commotion was about and sneezed, scattering the fairies. Agatha, meanwhile, almost stepped on a forest gnome, who was livid at first, then recognized her, chanting, “AGATA, AGATA,” and holding out a pint-sized notebook for her to autograph before his frumpy wife pulled him back into his hole.

Agatha sighed, relieved that for once her fairy tale’s fame hadn’t resulted in sleazy tabloid headlines or someone trying to kill her. Two dragon birds, one red, one orange, breathed fire as she passed, scorching a mouse they’d caught, then chittered happily in her direction as they ate it. A family of sparklefrogs burped the Camelot anthem in salute and a fat mongoose leapt out of a log, mouth full of butterflies, and pipped, “Uma friend!”

Slowly Agatha’s body relaxed in the thicket’s muggy warmth, the trauma of the last few hours melting away. Even in the most beautiful stretches of the Endless Woods, there was always an undercurrent of danger. But here in Sherwood Forest, Robin and his Merry Men had created their own magical Woods within the Woods, untouched by the politics of the Ever-Never world. In fact, given he was at once a thief, a philanderer, and a champion of the poor, Agatha wasn’t even sure if Robin himself was Good or Evil . . . and Robin probably liked it that way.

As she approached the hill, Agatha glimpsed Tedros’ silhouette and felt a swell of love. Robin was right: no matter how much sadness or pain she felt, Tedros was feeling it a thousand times worse. Her prince needed her.

She crested towards the gravesite, coming up behind Tedros—and stopped.

He wasn’t alone.

Without really knowing why, Agatha ducked behind a tree so she could overhear.

“I used to make-believe I was Sir Lancelot when I was little,” Rhian was saying, barefoot and freshly bathed in a black cut-off shirt and beige breeches. “Riding alongside your father and slaying the Green Knight. Imagining that I was standing before the people after a triumphant battle, exchanging gifts with the king. I ruined a lot of pillows jabbing at them with wooden spoons, pretending they were enemies of King Arthur. . . . I dreamed of serving Camelot one day, just like Sir Lancelot did.”

“Lots of boys did. And still do,” said Tedros, his blood-spattered shirt unbuttoned in the heat. “Had a guard at the castle recently who dreamed of serving Camelot too . . . only to then betray it.”

“Serving is much harder than the work of dreaming,” said Rhian. “I just wish my own service didn’t have to take the place of Sir Lancelot’s.”

A few fairies settled in Tedros’ hair, clearly listening in. By their light, Agatha could see the new knight was taller than the king and darker in complexion, though not as pumped with muscle. Still, with his cropped hair, high forehead, and sculpted jaw, he seemed sturdier than Tedros. More intense.

“You really think the Snake is your brother?” Rhian asked. “That he’s your father’s son?”

“Lady Gremlaine never said it for sure. But she said she’d done something terrible, something she’d hidden from Arthur and the world,” said Tedros. “Plus, the Snake called me ‘Brother.’ He vowed he can pull Excalibur. And Lady Gremlaine never denied it. And yet, if he can pull Excalibur from the stone . . . that would mean he’s truly my father’s son. Would my father’s son try to kill his own brother? Would he really murder Lancelot? His father’s best friend and knight?”

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