A Crystal of Time. Soman Chainani

      “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