Chapter Text
Something was wrong with Tedros. He felt off. Not sick--just . . . off. The worst part was that Tedros knew the cause of his weird feelings.
It was all Agatha’s fault.
Since the first day he met her, he was convinced that she was an evil, conniving witch. A weed amongst roses. A mistake. And yet, during the Trial by Tale, she had saved his life, even when her so-called friend cowered behind a bush. Of course Agatha had cowered behind Tedros’s shield, but that was besides the point. She wasn’t supposed to be there, Sophie was.
That was something else that was bothering Tedros. Why had Agatha been there? Presumably to help Sophie, but why? Did she do it because they were friends, or because she had something to gain from it?
It was hard to tell, because the next day, Agatha was nowhere to be seen. At first, Tedros didn’t think too much about it; he was still too angry about Sophie’s betrayal. In fact, he was glad not to see her face. But then she didn’t appear in class the next day. At lunch, both she and Sophie were missing.
‘ Maybe they’re conspiring .’ Tedros thought bitterly.
The day after, when Sophie was seen—with her face painted white and black—Agatha wasn’t.
The next day, she wasn’t seen.
Then the next day.
Then the next day.
Finally, on the seventh day, when the Evers were exhausted from Sophie’s attacks, Agatha skulked into Dovey’s room. The permanent black circles under her eyes were replaced by red and puffy skin, her dark eyes glassy with the remnants of tears.
She’d been crying.
Tedros almost laughed. He didn’t know she knew how to cry.
There was something odd about her expression though. It was both defeated and determined, and more than a little scary.
She didn’t speak during class, which wasn’t unusual, but during the test, her pen wrote furiously. Tedros almost felt stupid, just circling answers while she was writing small essays.
While grading the tests, Dovey’s frown deepened with each packet she smacked back down on her desk. Only when she came across a packet riddled with scratchy handwriting dick her expression soften into something wistful. Then she went right back to scolding them about being Good when she reached the next test. The entire time, Agatha kept her eyes locked on her candied desk, savagely ripping at her nails.
Once Dovey had passed their tests back to them—pages soaked through from her red pen—and the bell rang, everyone but Agatha rose from their seats. She didn’t move, so still it would be easy to mistake her for a statue. Tedros didn’t think about why she might stay behind other than briefly wondering if Agatha would ask what would happen when no one asked her to the Snow Ball.
No, he didn’t think about her at all.
Not until hours later, when she flounced down the stairs, lips pulled back to show pearly white teeth. Tedros froze when he saw her. If not for the short black hair—once shiny with grease and now swishing silkily around her sharp jawline—and the horrid black clumps on her feet, he wouldn’t have recognized her at all.
What had happened? Was this why she’d stayed behind after class?
Aside from her height, everything about her was smaller: her nose, her lips, her eyes. It was like they’d been shrunk to fit her better.
Tedros then wondered if Agatha had ever been ugly at all. Just…awkward. Gangly.
She acted differently too. Instead of the insult that always seemed ready on her tongue, she looked at him like she didn’t know what to say.
It was Tedros who broke the silence. He coughed, remembering that he was a prince and not a tongue-tied little boy. “Um. Hi.” For some reason, Agatha’s bright and glimmering smile returned, though now it was goofy and crooked. It was his new favorite smile.
“Hi.” It was almost weird how her voice hadn’t changed, still rich and deep.
More silence.
“What’s for dinner?” Agatha asked and Tedros wanted to bang his head against the nearest wall.
“Duckling.” It was hard to breathe. His voice sounded odd. High pitched. To ease the catch in his throat, Tedros coughed again.
What was he doing? This was Agatha: the same girl who once punched him in the eyes. The same girl who’d destroyed half their school the first week.
A new face didn’t make her Good.
But had her other face made her Evil?
“Sorry.” Tedros said at last. “It’s just, you look…you look so…” Agatha’s neck suddenly took on a fiery red look.
“I know—not me—” Without another word, Agatha spun on her heel and fled around the corner. Tedros didn’t know how long he stood where she’d been, staring at nothing. It was Chaddick who brought him back to the present.
“Did you see Agatha?” Tedros met his friend’s gaze slowly.
“Uh, yeah.” He said.
“She looks totally different.” Chaddick rambled on. “I almost didn’t recognize her.
“Yeah.” Tedros agreed absently. “Me neither.”
He tried not to think about her now. He tried not to think about how Agatha’s eyes were somehow darker than before, near black. How her hair curled gently under his chin. He refused to think about the tiny freckles dotted all over her face. They’d been there before, but they’d been so pale, barely visible against her white face.
Tedros swung his sword, sweat flying. The blade lopped off a dummy’s head and the lifeless sack rolled across the floor.
He tried not to think about Agatha’s beautiful smile.
With a planted foot, Tedros whirled, striking another dummy through its stuffed chest. He tried to focus on Sophie and the attacks. How he was going to put a stop to it all.
Spinning and lunging, dummy limbs and heads fell to the stone floor, stuffing flew every which way, some even sticking to his clothes and hair.
Tedros closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. His mind wandered and this time he let it. He thought of the first time he officially met Agatha. Not during the Welcoming, but next to the hedge of his father, when the gargoyle sat in her lap, her hands moving protectively over the stoney skin. He had saved her life, and instead of thanking him, she shouted in his face, accusing him of killing an innocent child. She looked so angry, so hurt.
She hadn’t looked like a witch then.
Would a witch act like that? Would a witch say he killed a child so sincerely?
Was she right then?
When Beatrix insisted on telling Tedros in full detail of Agatha’s plunder with the Wish Fish, she explained how the Fish turned into a young girl and burst into golden light in Agatha’s arms.
Was the same thing about to happen with the gargoyle?
Wiping a towel over his face, Tedros put the sword back on the wall. Leaving the Everboys’ groom room, he clenched his jaw tightly. For years, Tedros felt judged by his appearance and title. Told he was made for greatness because of his father. Worshiped by the girls here because he was handsome. His entire life, Tedros drowned in unreasonable expectations. He’d hated it.
Then he went and did the same thing—twice. He labeled Sophie as an Ever and a princess because she was pretty and Agatha as Evil because he was ugly. In the end, Sophie became the villain and Agatha saved his life.
Coming down the stairs, Tedros saw other students standing before a wall, messily scrawled with bloody-red wording.
TONIGHT
Agatha was at the front. All the color drained from her face.
“What does it mean?” She asked. Tedros had nearly forgotten that Agatha was never present for any of Sophie’s attacks.
“That Sophie is going to attack tonight.” Tedros answered. Agatha turned towards him. Her eyes scanned over his sweaty frame. Suddenly, Tedros felt self-conscious in a way he never had before, aware that he was covered in sweat and probably smelled.
“Uh, sorry…need a bath.” Agatha didn’t answer. Red creeped down her neck and she quickly turned away. Tedros’s pride flared a little.
“I thought the attacks were over.” Agatha said softly. For a moment, Tedros saw wistfulness pass over Agatha’s face. He frowned and glared at the wall.
“She’s poison, that girl.” He hoped she would hear the underlying message.
“She’s hurt, Tedros.” Agatha argued, but Tedros only latched onto the way it sounded when she said his name. “She thinks you made a promise.”
“It’s not a promise if it’s made under false pretenses. She used me to win the trial and she used you too.” Agatha bristled, the red flush shooting angrily up to her cheeks.
“You don’t know the slightest thing about her.” Agatha shot back hotly. “She still loves you and she’s still my best friend.” There was something desperate in Agatha’s tone. Not so much that she was trying to convince Tedros, but trying to convince herself.
Poison indeed.
“Blimey, you must be a better soul than me, because I don’t know what you see in her. All I see in a manipulative witch.”
“Then look closer.”
Tedros looked towards Agatha, then around them. They were alone. When had everyone else left? Different words filled Tedros’s tongue. He found himself wanting to be smooth. He wanted to say the right thing that would make her feel better, make the warm blush return to her face.
“Or look at someone else.” He met her eyes, again hoping she’d get the message.
The red blush flared up Agatha’s slender neck once more. The victory Tedros felt was fleeting, disappearing entirely when Agatha looked like she was going to either cry or throw up.
“I’m late.” She spluttered, expression panicked.
“History’s this way.” Tedros pointed down the hall.
“Bathroom—” She squeaked.
“But that’s the boys’ tower!” He fought the smile prickling at his face.
“I prefer boys’...toilets—” He could tell she knew how ridiculous she sounded. And he was glad she was too far away to hear him laugh.
Agatha wasn’t a witch at all.
She never was.