In the stunning conclusion to the New York Times bestselling School for Good and Evil trilogy, everything old is new again, as Sophie and Agatha fight the past as well as the present to find the perfect end to their fairy tale.
Former best friends Sophie and Agatha thought their ending was sealed when they went their separate ways, but their storybook is about to be rewritten—and this time theirs isn’t the only one. With the girls apart, Evil has taken over and the forces of Good are in deathly peril. Will Agatha and Sophie be able to work together to save them? Will they find their way to being friends again? And will their new ending be the last Ever After they’ve been searching for?
Soman Chainani delivers action, adventure, laughter, romance, and more twists than ever before in this extraordinary end to his epic series.
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“Reimagines the world of fairy tales and will make you question who is good and who is evil… Loved it!”
“Wow. From the very first sentence, you know you’re entering a thrilling world of strange fantasy. A wild and dangerous fairy-tale ride. I loved this book.”
“A whip-smart debut, guaranteed to make any girl think twice about wanting to be a princess. If I could bewitch you all to read it, I would. Grade: A.”
“Invention in overdrive, The School for Good and Evil is a comedic education by a writer primed to shoot to the head of the class.”
“An imaginative way to leave black-and-white thinking behind.”
“It is not often that someone comes along who can reinvent fairy tales and reclaim their magic. Soman Chainani takes the racing energy of Roald Dahl’s language and combines it with the existential intensity of J.K. Rowling’s plots to create his own universe. The School for Good and Evil uses the sorcery of words and the poetry of friendship to startle, enchant, and keep us turning its pages.”
“A funny, frightening, and fully satisfying novel that explores the meaning of true love and the vast gray area between good and evil.”
Sophie no longer wanted to kill the boy she was about to marry.
Nor could she make sense of the fleeting thought that she’d wanted to kill him in the first place. From what she could tell, he was gorgeous, eloquent, and cocksure, just like a king should be. And soon, she’d be his queen. The queen.
Not that she had the slightest clue how it had happened. The past was fuzzy now, her memories elusive. Any attempt to penetrate them spawned a spearing headache, as if there was an iron spike through her brain, before she’d jolt straight back to the present, the ache gone, as if she’d been born this second, again and again and again. Efforts to recall why she’d ended up like this—a girl with no past—only brought on stronger pain, and it wasn’t long before she stopped trying to find her memories altogether.
All she knew was that she’d woken in this prim white dress and tonight she would marry King Rhian, the Lion of Camelot, keeper of Lionsmane, and savior of the Endless Woods. She’d yet to have a private moment with her betrothed: their only time together spent recording a spellcast, which she’d struggled to follow . . . about a brother gone rogue and rebels in the Woods, ending with her pledging allegiance to the Lion, her husband-to-be, just as he’d instructed. . . . But even from this, she knew she loved him, body and soul. Sitting next to him, she’d inhaled his frosty scent and basked in his tan glow, almost too perfect. When the spellcast finished, he stroked her back with cold fingers and gave her a snake-eyed smile: “See you at the altar, my sweet.” Sophie’s heart fluttered like he was her fairy-tale prince.
Any girl would die to be in her shoes, she thought now, powdering her nose in the queen’s boudoir and peering in the mirror at her crown of golden braids and the fussy white dress that hijacked nearly every inch of her skin. She had no inkling of where this dress had come from or who had made it, but now that she was about to convene with the Woodswide press and answer their pre-wedding questions, she wished the dress had a bit more panache . . . straps instead of sleeves, perhaps, and a dash of color around the waist —
On cue, the dress shape-shifted, as if her mind’s thoughts were commands, the sleeves whittling to thin strands over her shoulders, while a slash of blue cut across her hips, forming a belt of silk butterflies. Sophie hardly flinched. For something so strange, there was no surprise in the dress’s magic, as if she’d had this happen before but couldn’t remember when. She glanced into her own eyes in the mirror and saw a flash of sparkle, an emerald gleam, like a light in a tunnel. . . . Then it was gone, as quickly as it came.
“Press is waiting for you, princess,” a voice said.
Sophie turned to the captain of the guard standing at the door to her bedroom, the gold of his jacket specked with dried blood. Kei, he said his name was, when he’d woken her from sleep. Handsome as anything, with hawkish eyes and a square jaw, but a glum, tortured expression, as if haunted by a ghost.
They walked towards the ballroom, Kei tight at her side. She noticed him peeking at her, like he was waiting for her to say something. As if they shared a secret. It made Sophie uncomfortable.
A guard cut in front of them, scanty-haired and pockmarked: “Captain, the map inna Map Room’s been burnt to nothin’—one witha rebels’ wherebouts!”
Kei flexed his jaw. “Could be one of the maids or cooks. I’ll question them.”
“But that wazza king’s map! Should I tell ’im—”
“Get back to your post,” the captain ordered, guiding Sophie past him.
Sophie was mystified by this map business, but whatever it was, it made Kei even more sour than before.
He caught Sophie looking at him.
For the first time, Kei’s face changed, replaced by a sharp gaze that seemed to drill into her mind. . . .
“You there?” he whispered.
Sophie stared into his big, dark eyes . . . then snapped from her trance. “Of course I’m here! Where else would I be?” she scolded. “And stop scowling and giving me strange looks. You’re the captain of the guard. The king’s new liege. Act the part or I’ll tell the king to find someone who will.”
Kei hardened, as if he’d turned to stone. “Yes, Princess.”
“Good,” said Sophie. “And clean your jacket while you’re at it. Unless there’s a coup unfolding in the castle, there’s no reason to be flaunting your blood as part of your uniform.”
“Rhian’s blood,” said Kei.
“Excuse me?” said Sophie, stopping.
“It’s Rhian’s blood,” Kei repeated, with that drilling gaze again.
“Then kindly return it to him,” Sophie quipped, strutting ahead.
She smiled, her white dress puffing up like peacock feathers.
Rhian would be proud of her.
She was settling into the role of his queen already.
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