The Last Ever After - Soman Chainani

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dear guest, haven’t we?” He smiled wolfishly at the prince and walked off the stage, passing Stefan with a glare. “Do the witch first.”

      Roars detonated from the mob, flocking closer to the pyre.

      Tedros spun to Agatha and saw her face. “But he promised us!” he cried.

      The Elder glanced back as he descended the steps. “Every story has a lesson doesn’t it, young prince? Perhaps yours is that you’re too old to believe in fairy tales.”

      Agatha felt Tedros gush into a sweat as the guards regagged him. Frantic, the prince thrashed at the rope, trying to free his princess, but his flailing only made the rope cut tighter. Choking for breath, Agatha hunted wildly for her mother, but still couldn’t find her. She whirled to Stefan, knowing she was about to die—

      But Stefan hadn’t moved from the side of the stage, his gaze fixed on her.

      “Is there a problem, Stefan?” the Elder said, now at the front of the mass.

      Stefan kept staring at Agatha.

      “Or should we replace our prisoners with your new family?” the Elder said.

      Stefan turned sharply. Guards held Honora, Jacob, and Adam in the crowd.

      Stefan’s teeth bit the inside of his cheeks. Then his expression darkened. He moved towards Agatha, no longer able to look at her. Body close to hers, he reached up and took a flaming torch from the scaffolding. Agatha cowered from the wrath of the flame as he drew it down, blinding her with smoke. She could hear Tedros’ muffled yells, the echoes of the shouting hordes, but they were drowned out by the raging torch fire, hissing like a demon snake. Eyes watering, she caught flashes of Stefan’s heaving chest, his quivering grasp on the torch, the red splotches across his cheeks …

      “Please—” Agatha gasped into her gag.

      Stefan still couldn’t look at her, the torch shaking so much that embers scattered onto Agatha’s dress, burning tiny holes.

      “Stefan …,” the Elder warned in a menacing voice.

      Stefan nodded, tears and sweat mixing. The crowd went dead quiet, seeing him bend towards the stake. He raised the torch to the sticks over Agatha’s head, the flames about to lick onto the wood—

      “Take me!” Callis’ anguished voice pierced the silence. “Please, Stefan! Let me die with her!”

      Stefan froze, his flame so close to Agatha it scorched the gag in her mouth. Heart stopped, Agatha watched him deliberate a moment, his face calcifying into a mask …

      Then he backed away and turned to the Elder.

      “It is a mother’s last request,” said Stefan, adding a snort. “Shove her in with her traitor daughter and watch the flesh melt off ’em. They deserve to writhe together, don’t they?”

      Even the most bloodthirsty spectators looked flummoxed, deferring to the Elder.

      The Elder’s pupils raked Stefan over, before his lips pursed in a flat line.

      “Quickly then.”

      “No!” Agatha shrieked, her gag breaking away.

      Guards wrenched Callis from the crowd onto the stage and shoved her next to Agatha, binding her waist to the pyre. Helpless, Tedros ripped at the rope, his bicep veins about to burst.

      “This is my fault …,” Agatha sobbed. “This is all my fault—”

      “Close your eyes, dear,” said Callis, trying not to cry. “It will all go fast from here.”

      Agatha looked up and saw Stefan’s hand wasn’t shaking on the torch anymore. With an eerie calm, he advanced towards her and her mother, the dancing flame reaching for the wood sticks between them. He finally met Agatha’s eyes, a strange sadness in his face.

      “If you ever see my daughter again, beyond this world … tell her I love her.”

      “Now, Stefan,” the Elder commanded.

      Petrified, Agatha seized Tedros’ hand as she leaned into her mother’s shoulder. She saw Stefan looking at Callis, his lips trembling.

      “I’m s-s-sorry,” he whispered.

      “You saved me once upon a time, Stefan.” Callis smiled mournfully at him. “I owe you a debt.”

      “I c-c-can’t,” Stefan faltered.

      “You must,” said Callis, hard as steel.

      “NOW!” the Elder thundered.

      With a pained cry, Stefan plunged the torch at Callis. Agatha screamed—

      Callis thrust out her finger from beneath the binds and shot a blast of green light at the torch. The fire turned green and ricocheted off the pyre like a comet, blasting Stefan off the platform, before circling the stage in a wall of green flames, sealing the captives in.

      Before Agatha could suck in a breath, her mother cut her and Tedros loose from the rope with her glowing fingertip. She grabbed Agatha and spoke over the villagers’ cries beyond the firewall—

      “The spell won’t last, so listen carefully. Stefan knew what I was, Agatha. From the night you went after Sophie, we had a plan to save you girls from the Elders if you ever returned. Stefan would do anything to keep his daughter safe. But when you came back without Sophie, Stefan had no reason to keep to the plan and endanger his new family … unless he believes his daughter still needs you. You must repay my old debt to him, Agatha. You must save Sophie as Stefan saved you. You hear me? Do not fail. Now run for Graves Hill as fast as you can—”

      “You’re a w-w-witch—” Agatha spluttered, trying to find air. “You were a witch all along—”

      “The grave between the two swans. Help will be there, waiting for you,” her mother cut in. “You must find the grave before it’s too late.”

      Dazed, Tedros turned to Agatha, expecting her to know what her mother was talking about. But Agatha was paralyzed, staring ahead. Tedros spun back to Callis. “Who? Who will be waiting for u—”

      Only now Tedros saw what his princess was looking at … the circle of fire falling around the stage, Callis’ spell about to end. In the green firelight, Agatha glimpsed Stefan, stunned on the ground but unharmed, before a fleet of shadows jumped over him, throttling towards the stage. Tedros and Agatha raised their eyes at the same time to see the guards charging through the crowd with spears, dashing right for them.

      Callis took Agatha’s face in her hands. “Don’t look back, Agatha.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead hard. “Whatever you do, promise me you won’t look back.”

      With a scared cry, Agatha grabbed her mother’s hand, but her prince was already dragging her towards the edge of the stage away from the sprinting guards. Tedros hooked his arm over Agatha and flung the both of them off the platform in a flying leap. Spinning around, Agatha pulled her mother with them, holding on to her hand with every ounce of strength—

      Callis smiled at Agatha in the fading firelight and let her daughter go.

      Agatha crashed in dirt, twisting her ankle, before Tedros lifted her up in darkness, towing her towards the town gates. “No—I can’t leave her—” she croaked, resisting him.

      “‘Don’t look back.’ That’s what she said,” Tedros fought, goading her ahead. “Trust your mother, Agatha. She’s a witch. A powerful witch. We’re the ones who need saving now.”

      Hearing the guards’ shouts, Agatha let Tedros shove her forward. She pinned her eyes on Graves Hill ahead, hobbling beside him. Don’t look back, she begged herself, Tedros clenching her like a vise. Don’t look back …

      Agatha looked back to see three guards hurdle the sinking firewall towards Callis, spears about to impale her. Her mother held her ground.

      “What is she

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