He pressed his axe into Agatha’s and Tedros’ necks, taking aim.

Sophie’s face was still a hard, ghostly mask. She dug Excalibur deep into Stefan’s windpipe.

“This death I give to you, Rafal. My one true love,” she pledged.

“Sophie, no!” Agatha cried out, twisting to meet her eyes. “He’s your fath—”

Rafal crunched his boot down, silencing her.

“Wait,” Sophie said, sharp as a whip, stopping the young School Master cold. “I’m not finished with this one.”

Rafal’s boot eased up on Agatha and he smirked at his queen, surprised. “By all means, my love . . . Unleash.”

Sophie turned to Agatha, the hardness in her face warping to something deeper, scarier. “You think this man deserves the name ‘father’? A man who despises me?”

Stefan tried to speak, but Sophie jammed the sword blade against his neck.

“I tried to make him love me. I tried to show him the real me. But he hated me even more. Just like Tedros. Just like everyone Good ever did,” Sophie spat at Agatha. “I am my mother. Evil to the bone. That’s all anyone will ever see.”

Agatha raised her head from the log. “Except me.”

Her voice was surprisingly calm, as if rising from a place over which she had no control.

She could see the last slivers of sun glint in Excalibur’s blade.

Merlin had warned her: she would have one chance with Sophie.

Use it wisely.

She’d tried to listen to the wizard. She’d tried to have a plan . . .

But there was no plan.

There could never be a plan for her and Sophie.

There was only the truth.

She could feel Tedros struggling against his binds like he had on a pyre, once upon a time in Gavaldon, trying to help her. But this time it was she who gently touched her foot to his leg, soothing him.

No one could help her now.

This was her and Sophie’s fairy tale.

And this was The End.

Agatha looked up at her friend.

“I know what’s inside you, Sophie,” she said. “Beyond your mother. Beyond Evil. I know the real you.”

“This is the real me. This has always been the real me,” Sophie retorted, tightening her grip on the sword. “The one who doesn’t have to pretend to be Good anymore. The one who doesn’t have to feel like I’m not enough. The one who doesn’t have to feel anything at all. I’m finally happy, Agatha.”

“No, you’re not,” Agatha said quietly. “You’re not happy.”

Sophie bristled. “About to die with your beloved prince and still thinking about me. My story will go on without you, Agatha. I don’t need you anymore or your pity, like one of your decrepit cats. I’m no longer your Good Deed.”

“But I’m still yours,” said Agatha. “Because without your love, I’d never have become who I really am. So even if I die, I’ll always be your Good Deed, Sophie. And no Evil in the world will ever erase that.”