Merlin stood up.

All eyes shot to him.

“Oh goodness. I’m not leaving,” he said. “Hips are a bit stiff.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

Agatha saw Tedros smiling at her, his expression soft, as if her words about her mother had meant as much to him as they had to her.

“Well then, now that our new queen has set the tone, the real work begins,” Merlin declared. He swished a finger across the table and tiny marble figurines of each member in the room appeared on top of it. “Each young student will train with an old hero . . .”

Agatha crammed between Hester and Hort, trying to get a view of the table as Merlin paired up the figurines, announcing the training teams: Dot with Red Riding Hood, Anadil with Jack and Briar Rose . . .

Agatha couldn’t focus. Her crown was itching terribly and she looked up, hoping Tedros was far enough away that she could take it off—

Only she couldn’t see Tedros anywhere.

And now that she was scanning the room, Guinevere wasn’t there either.

She heard the front door latch in the hall and glanced back to see a boy’s shadow through the window curtain, leading his mother out to the moors alone.

Hester elbowed her. “Pay attention.”

Agatha spun to the table. The wizard was glaring right at her, saying something about her mentor and her assignment in the war to come . . .

But Agatha couldn’t stop smiling, because for the briefest of moments, she felt like a war had already been won.

28

Who’s Helping Who

The thing Tedros liked about girls is that they always started the conversation. Most of the time, his job was just to listen, ask questions, and try to understand what in God’s name was going on in their complicated little heads. He rarely had any idea what girls were talking about or why they made everything so torturous in their logic, so playing the role of the strong, silent type usually gave him time to catch up.

But this was different. This was his mother. And he was the one with the storm in his head.

Which meant he was definitely going to have to start this conversation.

The breeze over the lush moors was brisk enough that Guinevere had to cling to her lumpy sweater, but Tedros was sweating like a mule, tugging at his shirt, wishing he could take it off. His chest pummeled like a pressure cooker and the silence between them was only making it worse. He didn’t even know where he was taking her—there wasn’t some hallowed landmark that would make this any easier—so without warning, he plopped down midstride into the grass, still fidgeting with his sleeves.

Guinevere calmly sat down beside him.

“When we met the Lady of the Lake, Merlin asked her to hide us the way she’d hidden someone before,” said Tedros, not looking at her. “Which means Merlin helped you escape from me and Dad.”