The Magician King

gone to the underworld there wouldn’t be any going to the
Far Side of the World.” He knew if he stood up it would be
over. “There wouldn’t be any Far Side left. All of this would
be gone.”

Her expression didn’t change. The woman was
psychotic. She wasn’t going to give in, no matter what he
said.

“All right,” he said. He waited as long as he could, then
he stood up. He held up his hands. “All right.”

If there was one thing he’d learned on this fucking quest it
was how to take a punch. He dropped his hands. He was
still a king, for Christ’s sake. That would do for a destiny.
He had no complaining to do. He’d had more than his fair
share of adventures. He knew that. Quentin went over and
stood next to Poppy, the woman he’d just tried to abandon.
She put her arm around his waist and kissed him on the
cheek.

“You’ll be okay,” she said. Her hands felt cool on his.
Elaine was closing the door.

“Wait,” Julia said. “I want to go through.”
The agent stopped, but she didn’t look as if she thought
she’d made a mistake.
“I’m going through,” Julia said. “My tree is waiting for me
there. I can feel it.”
Elaine conferred with her partner quietly, but when they
were done they both shook their heads.
“Julia, you must take some blame for the catastrophe that
nearly occurred. You and your friends invoked the gods,
and drew their attention to us, and brought them back. You

betrayed this world, however unknowingly, in order to
increase your own power. There must be consequences.”

For a long moment Julia stood perfectly still, staring not
at the Customs Agent but at the half-open door. Her skin
began to glow, and her hair crackled. The signs weren’t
hard to read. She was prepared to fight her way through if
necessary.

“Wait.” Quentin said. “Hang on a minute. I think you’re
missing something.” It was almost dark out now, and the
sky was a riot of stars. “Do you two have any idea what
she’s been through? What she lost? And you’re talking
about consequences? She’s had plenty of consequences.
And oh, by the way, not that it counts for much apparently,
but she saved the world too. You’d think she was due a bit
of a reward.”

“She made her own decisions,” the man who sat by the
door said. “All is in balance.”

“You know, I’ve noticed that you people, or whatever you
are, are pretty free with assigning that kind of responsibility.
Well, Julia wouldn’t have done what she did if I’d helped her
learn magic.”

“Quentin,” Julia said. “Cease.” She was still powered up,
ready to make her move.

“If you want to play that game, let’s play it. Julia did what
she did because of me. So if you want to blame somebody,
blame me. Put that wrong on me where it belongs and let
her go through to the Far Side. Where she belongs.”

The silence of the beach at the end of the world
descended again. They saw by starlight now, and by the

light of the impending moon, leaking through the half-open
door, and by Julia-light: she was glowing softly, with a warm
white light that threw their shadows behind them on the
sand and glimmered on the water.

Elaine and the well-dressed man conferred again for a
long minute. At least they weren’t quibbling about
passports. Probably Julia hadn’t needed hers to get into
the underworld. She slipped in under the radar.

“All right,” the man said, when they were finished. “We
agree. Julia’s fault will be upon you, and she will pass
through.”

“All right,” Quentin said. Sometimes you win one when
you least expect it. He felt strangely light. Buoyant. “Great.
Thank you.”

Julia turned her head and smiled at him, her beautiful
unearthly smile. He felt free. He’d thought he would carry his
share of that unhappiness for the rest of his life. Now,
suddenly, he had shed it when he least expected it, and he
felt like he was going to float up into the air. He had atoned,
that was the word for it.

Julia took both his hands in hers and kissed him on the
mouth, a long kiss, full at last of something like real love.
Demi-goddess or no, at that moment she seemed fully
herself to him in a way she hadn’t for years, not since their
last day together in Brooklyn, when both their lives had
been changed beyond recognition. Whatever losses she’d
suffered, this was Julia, all of her. And Quentin felt pretty
whole now too.

She stepped up to the doorway, but she didn’t kneel. She

straightened and squared herself like an Olympic diver and
then, disdaining the ladder, she dove off the edge, straight
down, and disappeared.

When she was gone the beach was a little darker.
It was over and done with at last. He was ready for the
curtain to come down. He wasn’t looking forward to the all-
night slog back to the Muntjac, and God knew how they
were going to get home from there. Surely there must be
some trick, some more magic lying around somewhere that
would enable them to skip over that part. Maybe Ember
would come.
“Where’s the damn Cozy Horse when you need it?” Josh
must have been thinking the same thing.
“And how should Quentin pay?” the Customs Agent said.
She was speaking to the man in the black suit.
Suddenly Quentin felt less tired.
“What do you mean?” he said. They were whispering
again.
“Hang on,” Eliot said. “That’s not how it works.”
“It is,” said the man, “how it works. Julia’s debt is now
upon Quentin, and he must settle it. What is it that Quentin
holds most dear?”
“Well,” Quentin said, “I’m already not going to the Far
Side.”
Brilliant. He should have been a lawyer. A thought froze
him: they were going to take Poppy. Or do something to
her. He was afraid to even look at her in case it gave them
ideas.
“His crown,” Elaine announced. “I am sorry, Quentin. As

of this moment you are no longer a king of Fillory.”
“You exceed your authority,” Eliot said hotly.
Quentin had been braced for devastation, but when it

came he didn’t feel anything at all. That was what they were
taking, and they would take it. Had taken it. He didn’t feel
any different. It was all very abstract, kingliness, in the end.
He supposed what he would miss most was his big, quiet
bedroom at Castle Whitespire. He faced the others, but
none of them looked at him any differently. He took a deep
breath.

“Well,” he said stupidly. “Easy come.”
That was the end of Quentin the Magician King, just like
that. He was somebody else now. It was a silly thing to be
sad about, really. For God’s sake they’d just saved magic,
saved all their lives. Julia had found her peace. They had
finished the quest. He hadn’t lost, he’d won.
Elaine and the man in the suit had resumed their
stations, on their chairs, like a pair of seated caryatids. Job
well done. God, he couldn’t believe he’d flirted with her
back on the Outer Island. She wasn’t so different from her
father, in the end.
He had high hopes for her daughter, anyway.
“Give my best to Eleanor,” he said.
“Oh, Eleanor,” Elaine said in the dismissive tone she
reserved for her daughter. “She still talks about the time you
picked her up, how far she could see. You made quite an
impression on her.”
“She’s a sweet girl.”
“Can’t tell time yet. Do you know, she’s absolutely

obsessed with Earth now? She asked me to send her away
to school there, and I’m sorely tempted to do it, I can tell
you. I’m counting the days.”

Good for Eleanor, Quentin thought. She was getting off
the Outer Island. She would be all right.

“Imagine that,” he said. “When she’s old enough for
college, drop me a line. I might be able to recommend
one.”

It was time to go.
The sea was no longer empty. Something was coming
toward them across it: it was Ember, late as usual, trotting
neatly across the skim of water. Wouldn’t be like Him to
miss a good dethroning.
“So,” Quentin said. “Back to the Muntjac? Or?” Maybe
the magic sheep would be good for a ride home. He really
did hope so. Ember took His place by Eliot’s side.
“Not for you, Quentin,” He said.
And then Eliot did something Quentin had never seen
him do before, even after everything they’d been through
together. He sobbed. He turned away and walked a few
steps down the beach with his back to them, arms crossed,
head down.
“It is a dark day for Fillory,” Ember said, “but you will
always be remembered here. And all good things must
come to an end.”
“Wait a minute.”
Quentin recognized this little speech. It was the canned
farewell that Ember delivered in the books, every time He
did what He did best, which was to kick visitors out of

Fillory at the end.
“I don’t understand. Look, enough is enough.”
“Yes, Quentin, enough is enough. It is exactly that.”
“I’m sorry, Quentin.” Eliot couldn’t look at him. He took a

rattling breath. “There’s nothing I can do. It’s always been
the rule.”

Fortunately Eliot had a gorgeous embroidered
handkerchief to blot his eyes with. He’d probably never had
to use it before.

“For God’s sake!” Quentin might as well get angry, there
was nothing else left to do. “You can’t send me back to
Earth, I live here now! I’m not some schoolkid who has to
get back in time for curfew or fifth form or whatever, I’m a
fucking grown-up. This is my home! I’m not from Earth
anymore, I’m a Fillorian!”

Ember’s face was impassive beneath His massive stony
horns. They curled back from His woolly forehead, ribbed
like ancient seashells.

“No.”
“This isn’t how it ends!” Quentin said. “I am the hero of
this goddamned story, Ember! Remember? And the hero
gets the reward!”
“No, Quentin,” the ram said. “The hero pays the price.”
Eliot put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder.
“You know what they say,” Eliot said. “Once a king in
Fillory, always—”
“Save it.” Quentin shook him off. “Save it. That’s bullshit
and you know it.”
He sighed. “I guess I do.”

Eliot had himself back under control now. He held
something out, small and pearly, pinched in his
handkerchief.

“It’s a magic button. Ember brought it. It will take you to
the Neitherlands. You can travel back to Earth from there, or
wherever you want to go. It just won’t take you back here.”

“I can hook you up, Quentin!” Josh said, trying to sound
cheerful. “Seriously, I practically own the Neitherlands now.
You want Teletubbies? I’ll draw you a map!”

“Oh, forget it.” He still felt angry. “Come on. Let’s go back
to our home fucking planet.”

It was all over. He always hated these parts, even when
they were just stories, even when they weren’t about him.
He would think about the future soon. It wouldn’t be that
bad. He and Josh could live in Venice. And Poppy. It
wouldn’t be bad at all. It was just that he felt like he’d just
had a limb severed, and he was looking down at the stump
waiting to start bleeding to death.

“We aren’t coming, Quentin,” Poppy said. She was
standing by Eliot.

“We’re staying,” Josh said. Even in the cold and the
darkness, Quentin could see him blushing furiously. “We’re
not going back.”

“Oh, Quentin!” He’d never seen Poppy look so upset, not
even when they were freezing to death. “We can’t go! Fillory
needs us. With you and Julia gone there are two empty
thrones. One king, one queen. We have to take them.”

Of course. A king and a queen. King Josh. Queen
Poppy. Long live. He was going back alone.

This, now, this stopped him. He’d known that adventures
were supposed to be hard. He’d understood that he would
have to go a long way and solve difficult problems and fight
foes and be brave and whatever else. But this was hard in
a way he hadn’t counted on. You couldn’t kill it with a sword
or fix it with a spell. You couldn’t fight it. You just had to
endure it, and you didn’t look good or noble or heroic doing
it. You were just the guy people felt sorry for, that was all. It
didn’t make a good story—in fact he saw now that the
stories had it all wrong, about what you got, and what you
gave. It’s not that he wasn’t willing. He just hadn’t
understood. He wasn’t ready for it.

“I feel like an asshole, Quentin,” Josh said.
“No, listen, you’re totally right.” Quentin’s lips were numb.
He kept talking. “I should have thought of it. Listen, you’re
going to love it.”
“You can have the palazzo.”
“Great, man, thanks, that’ll be great.”
“I’m sorry, Quentin!” Poppy threw her arms around him. “I
had to say yes!”
“It’s okay! Jesus!”
You didn’t want to be a grown man saying come on, it
isn’t fair. But it didn’t feel all that fair.
“It is time,” Ember said, standing there on His stupid little
ballerina hoofs.
“Listen, we have to do this now,” Eliot said. His face was
white. This was costing him too.
“Fine. Okay. Give me the button.”
Josh hugged him fiercely, and then Poppy. She kissed

him too, but he could hardly feel it. He knew he would be
sorry later, but it was just too much. He had to do this right
now or he was going to implode.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. “Be a good queen.”
“I have something for you,” Eliot said. “I was saving it for
when this was all over, but . . . well, I guess it’s all over.”
From inside his jacket Eliot brought out a silver pocket
watch. Quentin would have known it anywhere: it was from
the little clock-tree that had been growing in the magic
clearing in the Queenswood, where all this began. Eliot
must have harvested it when he went back there. It ticked
away merrily, as if it were happy to see him again.
He put it in his pocket. He wasn’t in the mood for
merriness. Too bad it wasn’t a gold watch: the classic
retirement present.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” It was.
The huge horned moon of Fillory was up now, clearing
the wall at the edge of the world with its nightly leap. It didn’t
rumble, like the sun, but this close it rang faintly, like a
struck tuning fork. Quentin looked at it long and hard.
Probably he would never see it again.
Then Eliot hugged him, a long hug, and when he was
done he kissed Quentin on the mouth. That Quentin felt.
“Sorry,” Eliot said. “But you were kissing everybody else.”
He held out the button. Quentin’s hand shook. Even as he
took it, almost before he touched it, he was floating up
through cold water.
It had always been cold, going to the Neitherlands, but he
never remembered it being this cold. The water burned

against his skin—it was Antarctic cold, like when he’d had
to run to the South Pole from Brakebills South, years ago.
The wound in his side ached. Hot tears leaked out from
under his eyelids and mingled with the frigid water. For a
long second he hung there, weightless. It felt like he was
motionless, but he must have been rising up through the
water because with no warning something rough clonked
him on the top of his head, hard enough that he saw silver
sparkles.

Insult to injury: the fountain was frozen over. Quentin
groped frantically at the ice above him, almost losing the
button in the process. Nobody thought of this? Could you
drown in magic water? Then his fingers found an edge.
They’d cut a hole in the ice, he’d just missed it.

The hole was frozen over too, but only lightly. He cracked
it satisfyingly with his fist. It was good to punch something
and feel it break. He wanted to break it again. He wriggled
up and out—he had to sprawl awkwardly on the slick ice
with his upper body, like a seal, and then grab the stone rim
of the basin and pull himself the rest of the way out of the
hole. He lay there for a minute, gasping and shivering.

For a second he’d forgotten everything that had just
happened. Nothing like a brush with death to take your
mind off your troubles. The magic water was already
evaporating. His hair was dry before his feet were even out
of the water.

He was alone. The stone square was silent. He felt dizzy,
and not just because he’d hit his head. It was all crashing in
on him now. He’d thought he’d known what his future looked

like, but he’d been mistaken. His life would be something
else now. He was starting over, only he didn’t think he had
the strength to start over. He didn’t know if he could stand
up.

Feeling like an old man, he boosted himself down off the
edge of the fountain and leaned back against it. He’d
always liked the Neitherlands—there was something
comforting about their in-between-ness. They were
nowhere, and as such they relieved you of the burden of
being anywhere in particular. They were a good place to be
miserable in. Though God help him, Penny would probably
come floating by in a minute.

The Neitherlands had changed since he and Poppy had
been there last. The buildings were still broken, and there
was still a little snow in the corners of the square, in the
shadows, but it wasn’t coming down anymore. It wasn’t
freezing. Magic really was flowing again: you could see it
here. The ruins were coming back to life.

Though they weren’t going back to normal. A warm
breeze blew. He’d never felt that in the Neitherlands before.
They’d always been asleep, but now they were waking up.

Quentin felt ruined too. He had that in common with the
Neitherlands. He felt like a frozen tundra where nothing
grew and nothing would ever grow again. He had finished
his quest, and it had cost him everything and everyone he’d
done it for. The equation balanced perfectly: all canceled
out. And without his crown, or his throne, or Fillory, or even
his friends, he had no idea who he was.

But something had changed inside him too. He didn’t

understand it yet, but he felt it. Somehow, even though he’d
lost everything, he felt more like a king now than he ever did
when he was one. Not like a toy king. He felt real. He waved
to the empty square the way he used to wave to the people
from the balcony in Fillory.

Overhead the clouds were breaking apart. He could see
a pale sky, and the sun was pushing through. He hadn’t
even known there was a sun here. The silver watch Eliot
gave him was ticking along in an inside pocket of his best
topcoat, the one with the seed pearls and the silver thread,
like a cat purring, or a second heart. The air was chilly but it
was warming up, and the ground was littered with puddles
of meltwater. Stubborn green shoots were forcing
themselves up between the paving stones, cracking the old
rock, in spite of everything.

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The Magicians