scott street

2: TEDROS

Being the only student left at the School for Good over the holidays was a pitiful existence, Tedros had realised quickly.

He'd spent the first two weeks after Agatha had left in a wretched stupor. The first night, he'd sobbed so hard he'd made himself feel horribly ill, then been so embarrassed he'd avoided Chaddick and Nicholas for a week. By the time he'd stopped sleeping in the Library of Virtue, they'd gone home. Chaddick had left him addresses for most of the lads, and a box of toffees. It was the sort of gesture Tedros had come to associate with him, he was beginning to realise; something quiet, but pointed.

Tedros had not gone anywhere. There was no point going back to Camelot; the Privy Council were scattered across the kingdom in their own country houses, and rarely met in person. He was informed the hounds had stopped pining for him by his third week at school, and had gotten fonder of the kitchen boys than they ever had of him, by week nine. The only concession he'd made was having his horse– the piebald stallion called Sprout, both infamously stupid and famously fast– brought to the School stables. Even as a colt, he'd been a nuisance, but Tedros had felt sorry for him, and begged the stablehands to be able to keep him, and no one had been able to say no to the Prince. As a result, he now had an idiot horse that no one except him could really control. Still, Sprout liked him. He thought, anyway; the horse tried to put Tedros's head in his mouth quite a lot, but Tedros was pretty sure it was what Sprout thought passed for affection.

How Agatha would have laughed. Both about how his horse was as dumb as him, and how he'd asked a footman to bring his horse to School.

Well, Agatha wasn't here to laugh, and he was spending a lot of time grooming, riding, digging stones out of the hooves of and sitting forlornly with Sprout. Like he was doing now; sitting under a tree near the stables, while Sprout cropped the grass and stared in interest at the squirrels.

There weren't many people left in Good; or, in fact, any, except him and the staff, who lived there year-round. Technically, students were allowed to stay, because the Readers usually had to... But not this year. As they knew.

And Sophie and Agatha lived happily ever after, for girls don't need princes for love to call... No, they don't need princes in their fairy tales at all.

Tedros pulled up a handful of grass and threw it, just for something to do. Unfortunately, it wasn't as satisfying without any of the lads to throw it at.

He knew he shouldn't have read the stupid storybook, but everyone else had been looking at the Storian's copy, trying to spot themselves in the illustrations, and he'd always been wretchedly nosey. His mother had always told him to–

Well. Nevermind that.

Tedros splayed his legs out in front of him and stared bad-temperedly at the Nevers across the Clearing, who were clearly brewing something in a massive, dented cauldron. 'No family left to go home to' was a much more common affliction amongst Nevers, and there were at least a dozen still at school– though he was sure Dot and Anadil could have gone home, if they'd wanted. They both had living parents. Others, though, not really; Hort and Hester both had no family, and neither did Mona, or Ravan, or...

But what use was having the Nevers around, anyway? They'd not suffer his company– apart from once a week, when Hester came marching over to him and 'permitted' him to have lunch with them. He was sure they kept trying to poison him, but bad luck; he'd practised mithridatism since he was seven, and nothing they could get access to at school had worked yet. Besides, he was so pathetically desperate for the company, he'd take the poisoning attempts that came with it.