Dragon Fire

by Lisa McMann

  “And Simberrr,” came an unmistakable growl from across the mansion. Of course Simber was listening in. With his acute hearing, when was he ever not listening?

  “Yes, Simber,” Fifer called. “Of course.” She stood up, indicating the meeting was adjourned. “We’ll set up in the entryway. Gorgrun and Quince can gather outside the front door and poke their heads in.” She let out a deep breath. “I’m beyond ready to bring normalcy back to Artimé.”

  Then she accidentally caught Thisbe’s eye. Maybe not that ready, she thought.

  Second Chances

  When the sun spilled color at the edge of the sky, Dev choked and coughed and threw up all over himself. His body was numb from the cold, and he just wanted to sleep. But he’d been cold before, back when he’d occasionally been locked out of the castle at night. So he knew that sleep was the worst thing he could do. He groaned and steeled himself, then pushed up on one elbow and promptly wretched again. The pain in his ribs cut through the numbness.

  Mustering strength, he looked around, even though his head felt like it weighed as much as a full broth of kettle from the catacombs. With relief he discovered there were no dragons around. No Revinir. He wasn’t sure what had happened or how he’d escaped them. Perhaps the gods of mercy had been on his side again. First Drock catching him. Now this. It made him wonder if he was meant to live.

  He also wondered if the Revinir’s distance from the edge of the river had distracted the red dragon enough to allow Dev to float by unnoticed in the dark. Why had she stayed so far from the water? In Dev’s experience, dragons spent plenty of time in the water, because it was their main source of sustenance.

  Whatever the case, Dev was alive. And smelly. Very smelly. And now his throat hurt from vomiting. But he was conscious, and not captured, and very, very cold. His teeth chattered. His face felt puffy, and his hands were wrinkled like an old person’s. He was sopping wet. And he knew he needed to find shelter and get dry before he froze to death.

  With another deep groan he pushed himself to his feet, feeling terribly unsteady. “Where am I?” he whispered. The effort of talking made his throat sting even more. He stumbled on the bank and slipped to one knee, but caught himself and took in his surroundings as the sky grew brighter. The river was flowing downstream to his left. That meant the palace was somewhere on the other side of it. He’d have to cross.

  Tears pricked his eyes, and he wanted to give up. This was just one more difficult thing thrown at him. He felt like he might never make it in his condition. And he was so tired of fighting. Always, always fighting against the elements. Fighting for food. Fighting for shelter. Fighting dragons and fighting sleep and fighting images in his mind, just to have one good, decent thing in his life. And now here he was, on the wrong side of a river, freezing and weak and not sure if he could fight the current.

  The image of the river and the branch came back to him. That scene had happened in real life. To him. Had it been a gift from his ancestors? It made him feel encouraged, though only slightly. Maybe he really was meant to be alive.

  He hugged himself, then slapped his arms and chest, trying to garner some warmth but only making his skin sting. Bolstered, he let out an aggravated sigh and sloshed into the water. He used his anger at the disparity in life to propel him forward, slogging across the river one hard step at a time. In the middle he had to swim. The current swept his feet from under him, and he swirled once and went down. But then his feet found the bottom again, and he bobbed back up and pressed onward. Finally he made it out the other side.

  He wanted to shout in frustration, but he couldn’t. He wanted to scream at the sky, at the ground. At the river. At the distance he’d have to walk and the flights of stairs he’d have to climb and at everything else that stood in his way of his being dry and comfortable. At the castle and the king and Princess Shanti. At the Revinir for making his already miserable life even worse than he’d ever thought possible. At the red dragon for not choosing a different place to stop and fish.

  And at Thisbe for abandoning him. “How could you do that?” he cried, clutching his sodden shirt and plodding onward, his expression filled with agony. She’d left him for her own safety. And she hadn’t come back. Dev remembered what the Revinir had said. Not one person in this world cares about you.

  Dev pressed forward between bushes and trees, looking through tears and a blinding sunrise for anything that seemed familiar, knowing this was the right direction. Looking for onion bulbs against the sky. And finally, through the brush, he saw them.

  Somehow he made it there. Barefoot, for apparently he’d lost his ragged shoes in the river. He entered the center tower and scared off the foxes. Then he crawled up the spiral staircase, six flights to the top. He threw himself onto the floor and slid over to the fireplace on torn, bloody hands and knees. Every movement made him cry out in pain. He grunted as he tossed a log into the fireplace, clutched his side as he took a deep breath, and blew fire at the kindling until it caught and he collapsed. After a moment he got back up, took off his wet clothes, ripped the fabric off one of the rotting sofas, and wrapped himself in it. He lay down by the fire and stayed there for hours. Maybe days, he wasn’t sure.

  The world had come after Dev for the hundredth time. It still hadn’t broken him completely, but it had come closer than ever before. And he knew he might not survive when it came for him again.

  Lose You Forever

  Hey, Fife?” said Thisbe as the others dispersed from the meeting. “Can I have a minute?” Rohan hesitated, a question in his eyes, but Thisbe urged him on, so he left.

  “Hey, Thiz,” said Fifer. “Uh…” She looked out the doorway like she had to be somewhere. She wasn’t sure she was ready to tackle this problem too.

  Thisbe eyed her. “Do you have another meeting?”

  “I was just, um…” Fifer tapped the corner of a table. “No. I guess I can let Lani and Samheed set up the panel.”

  “Do you want to talk about… everything?” Thisbe seemed as hesitant as Fifer felt, but in a way Fifer was glad Thisbe was pressing to talk.

  Fifer nodded. She closed the classroom door so they would have privacy. Then she turned and studied her sister. Thisbe was taller and more muscular than she’d been the last time Fifer had really looked at her. “So…” Fifer swallowed hard and cringed. This was not going to be easy. Where should they begin?

  “You’ve changed,” Thisbe said.

  “You mean you’ve changed,” said Fifer defensively.

  “Fair,” said Thisbe. “That’s true. Being held captive as a slave does that to a person.”

  Fifer blinked. Did this argument go that far back? She had to think hard about when they’d begun to grow distant. She pinched the bridge of her nose and remembered when they’d been separated in Dragonsmarche: Thisbe to captivity in the catacombs and Fifer pelted with shards of glass. She’d nearly died, and Simber had taken her home, leaving Thisbe behind. Things hadn’t been the same since way back then. “Oof,” said Fifer, sitting down heavily. “This is going to take more than a few minutes, isn’t it.”

  Thisbe offered a crooked smile and sat across from her. “I was just thinking the same thing. But… I’m here for it. If you are.”

  Fifer looked up and held Thisbe’s gaze. For the first time in a long time, she got a glimpse inside her sister’s heart. “I want to get you back,” she said. “I miss you so much.”

  Thisbe’s bottom lip quivered. She reached out a hand. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you forever. Let’s figure this out.”

  * * *

  They talked through everything. Instead of telling each other all the things they’d done and all the hard times they’d experienced that the other one hadn’t, they told each other how scared they’d been without the other. “I was so lonely and afraid,” Thisbe confessed. “I saw that glass shatter and hit you, and then I was taken down into the catacombs—it was horrible. My biggest fear was that you were dead, and I didn’t know for such a lo
ng time if it was true.”

  “Mine was not knowing where you were once we returned for you,” Fifer said. “I felt so helpless in that forest. Like I was failing you every moment. And then, when you weren’t in the catacombs and Alex died…” She shook her head. “You think someone is invincible, and they’re gone in an instant? It felt like I couldn’t catch my breath for weeks. Everything hurt. And I still didn’t have you. It was such a dark time.”

  Thisbe thought about when she and Sky and Rohan had found Alex’s grave. She was still struggling mightily with how she felt, and all she could do was repeat a phrase she’d said before. “I’m sad I didn’t get to know him like you did.” It came out a little stiffly, but it was the best Thisbe could do on this topic.

  “Me too. I think you would have liked him.”

  Thisbe wasn’t sure about that.

  They talked on, but they also listened to each other. They let each other speak, even when the words didn’t come out quite right. And they apologized and vowed to be better to each other. To not jump to conclusions. To ask more questions and listen more. To not always accept the surface response as the true answer, but to dig deeper until their vulnerabilities were exposed. That was how they’d been before. That’s how they wanted to be again.

  “It’ll be different, though,” Fifer mused. “Before, we were two menaces in the eyes of Artiméans, united by being outcasts. Hopefully, they don’t see us like that anymore.”

  “Ah,” said Thisbe, looking at her sister with a gleam in her eye, “but now we’ll be two menaces against the world, united in eliminating tyrants. So it’s still kind of the same.”

  “Kind of,” said Fifer with a half smile. And even though they both knew that change was inevitable going forward—big, massive changes as they pursued their new roles—they agreed to do better in sharing their goals and desires with each other. Not to compete, but to support. They knew being twins was always going to be something most people didn’t have the luxury to experience. But they also knew that they had to work on their special bond in order to keep it.

  Eventually they ran out of problems to fix between them, and the air felt clear once again. Both of them sat with their feelings for a moment, exhausted but content that they’d said all they needed to say to put the fights and hurts behind them and attempt to move toward a closer bond once more. It wasn’t going to be easy. But it was going to be.

  “Let’s connect soon, like old times,” Fifer said to Thisbe. “Walks on the shore. I want to get to know you again.”

  “I’m in,” said Thisbe. She stood up and went around the table. “Are you okay with a hug?”

  Fifer nodded, and the sisters embraced. “I’m here for you,” Thisbe whispered.

  “I’m here for you, too,” said Fifer. Things weren’t back to normal between them. But they were finally headed in the right direction.

  Trial by Jury

  After Thisbe and Fifer ironed things out between them, Thisbe pointed to Queen Eagala’s books. “What are these?”

  Fifer quickly explained Queen Eagala’s journals and how she and Sky had obtained them. When Rohan returned, he and Thisbe started reading through them, looking for clues that would help them understand the Revinir.

  Fifer left them and joined up with her fellow panelists, who’d gathered in the entryway. They talked through their strategy, then went to work interviewing dissenters, starting with the ones who seemed to have done the least amount of damage and appeared the most remorseful.

  * * *

  Over the next several days the panel drilled the dissenters one at a time about their roles in the civil war. Sometimes Seth or Carina sat in to give one of the others a break, but Fifer wanted to hear from each person herself. Simber, Florence, and the dragons had a pretty good idea of who the bad seeds were, having watched over them since the battle began. Their true colors showed through the longer they had to wait to be interviewed. There were several who were more than a little angry at Fifer. And some who threatened her for what she’d done.

  Aaron traveled back and forth between the Island of Shipwrecks and Artimé, fetching tools and bringing materials he found from ship wreckages to reconstruct the three tube panels that had been destroyed. As promised, he listened in on the interviews without being seen, and gave Fifer feedback whenever she asked for it. Simber listened in as well from his spot in front of the hospital ward. Every now and then Fifer would catch Simber’s eye and nod or frown, and Simber would respond nonverbally to indicate his opinion. Gorgrun and Quince gave their verdicts about the hearts of the people, and Maiven proved to have the most poised and thoughtful questions to get at the heart of the individual’s motivations. There was something about her royal presence that brought many of the dissenters to understand what serious harm they’d done and show deep shame for it.

  It was a relief to discover that many of them were sorry for their actions. They’d gotten caught up in it, they said. Interview after interview, that was the common thread. Looking back at the way things had escalated, they couldn’t believe they’d let Frieda’s fear- and hate-based momentum carry them to do such awful things to their fellow Unwanteds. Many of them confessed to not wanting to participate in the siege but also not knowing what to do about it at that point. Things had gone too far. They feared for their own lives, if Frieda had discovered that they wanted out.

  Several of the dissenters begged to speak to the ones who’d been trapped in the remote rooms so they could confess and apologize. Others wrote letters to the ones they’d harmed.

  “I froze Seth and put him in the tube to the lounge,” sobbed one man. “I’m so sorry. I used to help care for him when he was a little boy, while Carina was gone with Alex rescuing people. I can’t believe I did it. I don’t know how I turned into this person.”

  “I was responsible for pushing the frozen mages out of the tube onto the floor of the lounge,” said a woman. “Neighbors from my own hallway whom I’ve lived near for years. I’m ashamed of myself.”

  “I’m the one who destroyed the last working tube with magical sledgehammers,” confessed another. “Everyone was in a frenzy, and Garrit was screaming at me to do it! I couldn’t think! And I couldn’t sleep after that. I don’t deserve to be an Unwanted anymore. I accept whatever punishment you see fit to give me.”

  But some weren’t so remorseful. One of them rushed the table that the jury sat behind, trying to attack Fifer. Simber flattened him in an instant before he could do any harm, but it rattled Fifer and the rest of them. They locked him back up in the hospital ward until all the interviews were finished.

  As the days and processes continued, tears were shed across the panel and throughout the mansion. In the end, most of the dissenters were allowed to stay and were sentenced to labor around Artimé, fixing and cleaning up the things they’d destroyed. Seven unrepentant dissenters, including Frieda’s friend Garrit, were sentenced to the Island of Dragons for a time to be determined, with no means of escape. Quince offered to deliver them as soon as the interviews were over, and Simber flew alongside in case Quince forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

  At long last, Fifer put out a statement through the blackboards:

  Dear friends, it read. The world of Artimé is in a period of mourning and reflection. We have heard from all of you, and I, as your head mage, feel compassion for the stories you’ve shared. We appreciate your cooperation and expect you to begin your assigned duties immediately. If you have any last words to say to the panel, please come forward today.

  * * *

  After dinner that night, as Fifer waited for Simber and Quince to return, she found Thisbe and Rohan on the lawn, resting near Gorgrun. She took a breath and ventured toward them, wanting to follow through with her agreement with Thisbe to be purposeful about reconnecting, and wanting to get to know Rohan a little better. “Am I interrupting?” Fifer asked.

  Thisbe smiled and patted the grass next to her. “I was just thinking about you. We saw Simber and Quince tak
e off with the prisoners. It must have been hard to banish people, but I’m especially glad you sent that Garrit guy away. He was the worst.”

  “Here’s hoping he doesn’t do anything to mess with Pan’s island, or she’s going to be really mad. If she ever comes home, that is.” Fifer sat down wearily next to her sister and leaned back on her elbows. “I’m glad we’re finally done with this so we can get on with fixing things,” she said. “It went all right, you know? Better than I expected. Maiven is a champion. I’m so glad we had her help.”

  Rohan smiled. “I saw her head to her room this afternoon once you finished with everyone,” he said. “She said she had a splitting headache after all of that drama. The chefs prepared something mysteriously fragrant and effervescent in a tall glass for her to take with her.”

  “She deserves whatever treat that was,” said Fifer with a laugh. She sank back into the grass and closed her eyes. “I still can’t believe our grandmother is a queen. Did I tell you Aaron flipped out when I introduced him to her?”

  “You told me. They have lunch together every day now,” said Thisbe. “It’s very cute.”

  “I love that. I can see them getting along really well.” Fifer paused. “How is training with Florence going for everyone?”

  “Great,” said Thisbe. “Rohan is turning into one of our superstars.”

  Fifer opened one eye. “Oooh, really?”

  “Yes. He reminds me of Ibrahim and how quickly he picked up the art of magic,” Thisbe said. “Plus, he’s got really fluid moves like a dancer.”

  “Are you a dancer?” Fifer asked Rohan, sitting up. “You might have heard about our yearly costume ball.”

  Thisbe groaned in jest. “We’re not doing another ball.”