As the sun slipped behind a cloud, the winter chill returning, Sophie sat down and snuggled against a topiary of Tedros proposing to Agatha at the Circus of Talents. Resting her head between them, she let her eyes close, thankful that she had nowhere to be, no one to seek, and nothing wanting in her heart.

She’d never truly loved Rafal, no matter how much she’d told herself she did. She’d used him, trying to heal the hole in her soul . . . just like he’d tried to use her. But he was gone now, the finger that once wore his ring bare and blank.

Dreams floated by and she found herself standing in front of beautiful white-and-blue spires spearing the sky, topped with vermillion flags . . .

Camelot.

She could see the white marble path leading towards the kingdom . . . the tall, silver gates wide open . . . Agatha and Tedros, hand in hand, waiting for her on the other side with big, bright smiles . . .

“Sophie?”

Her eyes fluttered open to full-blown morning.

“They’re starting soon,” said Hort.

He was standing at the frosted door of the roof, his muscular frame obscured by a dumpy black tunic that used to be Evil’s uniform.

In his hand was a matching tunic.

“No,” Sophie gasped. “Really?”

Hort cracked a grin. “Really.”

The funerals for Cinderella and Lady Lesso took place in the Blue Forest, which was already coming back to life by the time the nymphs began laying out chairs in the Tulip Garden.

All the Nevers wore their saggy black uniforms and sat on the left side of the grass, while all the Evers sat on the right, with the girls in their usual pink pinafores and the boys in sky-blue shirts, navy jackets, and knotted slim ties. Many of the students had bruises, bandages, and casts, which they showed off to classmates with furtive whispers and the utmost pride. Indeed, there were no dirty looks across the aisle nor any of the usual rancor between the Good and Evil schools . . . but instead a silent gratitude that the other school was present at all.

The old heroes were there too, neatly fitted out in suits and dresses they’d found in the faculty closets. Only Lancelot was absent, who couldn’t bear to be away from his Guinevere any longer and had absconded during the night, once the students were safely asleep.

Everyone expected Merlin to preside over the ceremony as he stepped to the dais in front of the twin coffins, but the wizard invited Professor Dovey to say a few words instead.

Dressed in her chartreuse gown, Clarissa Dovey took the lectern, her brown eyes glassy, her nose tipped red.

“So much has been written of Cinderella, a student whose fairy tale will live on forever,” she began. “But there will be no stories of Lady Lesso. No tales passed down from Reader to Reader, keeping her name alive. For that, she would be thankful. Because Leonora Lesso only wanted one thing in her life. To find the true meaning of Evil. And it was in the pursuit of that meaning that she showed us why this school must endure. For in the end, it was Evil’s Dean who proved that sometimes Good isn’t Evil’s greatest enemy . . . but an unexpected friend.”