by Lisa McMann
Maiven drew her sword and stood poised, giving an air of safety to the room, and then she narrowed her gaze and looked closer, scrutinizing the shape in the shadowy alley behind the house. After a moment she strode toward the window, unafraid.
“Maiven!” said Thisbe sharply. “Be careful!”
But Maiven kept going until she reached the window. She looked out. And then she unhooked the latch and slid the window open.
The other black-eyed children screamed again, for certainly the former queen had lost her mind. But the woman held her hand out to quiet them. “Well, what a sight,” she said through the window. “Are you alone?”
Thisbe’s heart pounded. What was going on? Had Maiven known this dragon when she’d been a ruler?
Maiven stepped aside, then went to the door and opened it wide.
“Maiven!” Thisbe said again, feeling frantic. “What are you doing?”
But Thisbe soon realized why her grandmother was acting so strangely. The dragon lumbered down the alley to the open door and pressed his nose inside as far as it would go, then tilted his head downward against the frame so he could see.
“It’s Gorgrun!” Thisbe exclaimed. She let out a held breath. “Don’t worry, everyone. Gorgrun is one of the ghost dragons. He’s safe and not under the Revinir’s spell.”
Rohan came out from behind the sofa and joined Thisbe to greet their old friend. “We were just talking about you,” Thisbe said. She reached up tentatively and patted the dragon’s bony snout. “How did you know to come?”
“You called us,” said Gorgrun, who didn’t seem at all annoyed to be explaining this for the second time to Thisbe, because he’d probably forgotten.
“I did?” asked Thisbe, delighted but puzzled. “So there are more of you?”
“Quince is hiding nearby.” Gorgrun’s nostrils flared, and smoke filled the living room. The future rulers waved their hands to try to clear the air.
“Perhaps you could take a step back, sir,” said Maiven, firmly yet politely. Gorgrun obliged, tugging his face out of the doorframe and rattling the house in the process.
Thisbe coughed and fanned the smoke away. She studied the dragon, wondering if just by thinking about them in conjunction with the images had been what brought them here. “The reason I called you is because I have a huge favor to ask. Will you take me to my world across the gorge?”
“Across the gorge,” said Gorgrun, a puzzled look on his face. “Seems to me I’ve been there before, a long time ago, but I can’t recall who I visited.”
“Could it have been Pan? The ruler of the sea?”
“Oh—” said Gorgrun with a start. “Oh my. Yes. It was definitely Pan.”
Thisbe frowned. “She’s not there anymore. She’s under the Revinir’s spell. I haven’t seen her, but she’s in this world.”
“That’s a pity. One of the finest dragons I know. We’ll have to do something about her being under the Revinir’s control.” He cleared his throat, making the dishes rattle in the cupboards. “Take you across the gorge, you say? Of course I can. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, if it helps you to someday reclaim this realm for the dragons, so I can die.”
Thisbe thought about the obliterate spells that Florence was working on and her desperate need to collect a few of them. “Yes,” she said. “I believe it will help significantly. Will you perhaps be willing to help us stop a civil war? Perchance?”
“I suppose I would,” said Gorgrun. “Quince and I both would be happy to go . . . where again?”
“To the seven islands. Across the gorge and halfway through that world. Not quite as far as the trip to Pan’s island.” She had more questions for him about how to defeat the Revinir, but she figured she’d have plenty of time to quiz him on the long ride.
“No problem,” Gorgrun assured her. He looked at the rest of the people in the house, most of whom had come out of hiding by now. “We’ll take you all if you like.”
“Oh, no—that’s not necessary,” said Thisbe hurriedly.
But Maiven interrupted. “Actually, Gorgrun, that would be nice.”
“What?” said Thisbe. “What are you saying? You need to stay here to train and fight!”
Maiven tapped her lips. “We can still do both of those things in transit—and isn’t it even better learning to fight on a moving object? Think of the balance skills we’ll acquire. With our weapons, books, and a few supplies, I believe we can do everything we need to do from a dragon’s back.” She paused. “And it sounds like your people can really use some help. It will be good training for our group.”
“But I don’t want anyone here to get hurt,” said Thisbe passionately. “There are so few of us left. We must all be very careful.”
Maiven put her hand on Thisbe’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. “Thisbe,” she said quietly. “Our people do not shy away from a fight for justice. That’s our nature. And it’s partly why so few of us remain—many of the parents of these future leaders died fighting for their rightful land and rulership. To live our lives where we look the other way when something isn’t right? That is no life at all.”
Thisbe was quiet. She looked around at the other solemn faces and was surprised to see that they all seemed willing and eager to go along with this sudden change of plans. Prindi nodded and stepped forward. “We will help you, Thisbe.”
Rohan echoed her. Then the others did the same.
“You are all very noble,” Thisbe said, her eyes shining. “I gratefully accept your help. But . . . can we escape here without the Revinir finding out? I can’t have her chasing me down again and bringing even more chaos to my land.”
“We’re way ahead of you,” said Gorgrun knowingly. “We haven’t used up all of our tricks yet. Our ghostlike qualities allow us to make ourselves appear as fog to all but the black-eyed rulers if we choose to do so. We activated it at the time we left the cavelands. Although all of you can see us as we truly look, no one else has detected us—not even your neighbors. We will float past the castle and across the gorge in the same manner until we are quite out of sight of anyone in this world.”
“That couldn’t be more perfect,” said Thisbe, greatly relieved to hear it.
Maiven smiled. “Then it’s settled—you shall be our Trojan horse.” She turned to the future leaders. “Let’s pack up and go before Gorgrun forgets to look like a cloud of fog.”
• • •
Thirty minutes later everyone was armed with all the weapons and ancient books they could carry. They slipped out into the alley and climbed Gorgrun’s ethereal, skeletal tail and nestled on his soft, cloudy back. With his riders hidden in the foggy folds of his sagging skin, he moved through the neighborhood like a ghost. At the road he took flight, slowly and deftly dodging the cursed, glazed-eyed dragons who were out searching for these very same black-eyed people.
As they passed the castle in the distance, Thisbe sat up and looked at it, feeling a pang in her heart. She hadn’t forgotten Dev. Was he there? Or in the dungeon? Or perhaps the catacombs? There was nothing they could do for him right now. He’d have to figure out how to stay alive on his own until they were ready to go after the Revinir and rescue him. “Please be okay, wherever you are,” Thisbe whispered, sending the words away on the wind. “We’ll be back.”
• • •
From a castle turret, stuck behind a crisscross of rusty iron bars, Dev peered out into the darkness and waited for the Revinir to bring him the dragon-bone broth she’d threatened him with. It wouldn’t be long before he descended into oblivion again. Would Thisbe come to save him in time? Had she figured out where he was?
As he stared moodily into the darkness, a sliver of moon appeared above the treetops. Dev looked closer, then squinted, not quite believing what he was seeing. The moon lit up a pair of ghost dragons who carried a party of riders across the gorge. With a sinking heart, Dev realized who they must be, and that they were escaping without him.
“Thisbe!” Dev screamed through t
he bars. But the dragons didn’t turn back.
He screamed her name again, but to no avail. A rush of air escaped his lungs, and then another, until he was sobbing. Devastated, he collapsed against the cool stone wall and watched them grow small, feeling an ache in his stomach larger than the one caused by Shanti’s death. He’d been abandoned by the ones he’d saved.
A long time after they were out of sight beyond the mist, Dev dried his tears and set his jaw, pressing his mouth in a tight, grim line. He was alone against the Revinir. His choices were simple and horrible. He could drink the broth, or die fighting the monster. Either way, there was no longer any hope for him. He closed his eyes and pressed his back against the stone, welcoming the cold.
• • •
Once across the gorge, while everyone else settled down to sleep, Thisbe pulled the note and pencil from Florence out of her pocket and wrote:
Dear Florence,
Stay strong. We are coming to help. Please keep Fifer and Aaron safe if you can. I can’t bear to lose anyone else.
—Thisbe
With a hitch in her breath and a blunt feeling of fear hammering her heart, she folded the note along the creases, then tucked the tiny pencil inside. Holding it in front of her, she concentrated, then whispered the magical word and sent the message soaring across the sky like a shooting star, pointing the way home.
Acknowledgments
Hello to all the amazing people in my life! If you are reading this, you are one of them. I like you. A lot.
Some of you are in the publishing industry and you worked on this book. From editorial to art, marketing to publicity, library to sales, I want you to know I value you and your amazing abilities that I don’t possess. I take comfort in the fact that if creative people get banished from our dystopian world and are sent to their deaths, you will be there with me, along with everyone who reads these books. It’s going to be a good time.
I’m confident my family will be banished too. Matt, Kilian, and Kennedy: You have been there through each of these Unwanteds books from the very beginning. Thank you for all of your creative ideas, brilliant suggestions, and helpful feedback for the past many years. I always know I can count on you.
Booksellers, maybe you ordered this book for your store. As a former bookseller, I have the fondest feelings for you and the greatest empathy for your sore feet. I also know shelf space is precious, and I am grateful that you make room for me.
Educators and librarians, you had me at “How many books would you like to borrow?” I spent my Saturdays at the public library as a kid, and my weekdays trying to figure out how to stay in at recess so I could hide from bullies and read whatever you had in your classroom. Today I thank you for putting my books into the hands of young readers who might feel Unwanted too.
Kids! You give me life. Every day someone asks me, “Where do you get your inspiration?” I say it’s from you. It’s from readers who tell me on Instagram or Twitter or Facebook or in a letter or in person that these books mean something to you. You make me want to keep going. Thank you for your joy and enthusiasm and for making me laugh.
Most of all, thank you to Liesa Abrams and Michael Bourret. I love our little team.
About the Author
Author photograph © 2015 by Ryan Nicholson Photography
Lisa McMann is the New York Times bestselling author of the middle-grade dystopian fantasy series The Unwanteds, the YA paranormal Wake trilogy, and several other books for kids and teens. She lives with her family in the Phoenix area. Check out Lisa’s website at LisaMcMann.com, learn more about the Unwanteds series at UnwantedsSeries.com, and be sure to say hi on Instagram or Twitter (@Lisa_McMann), or on Facebook (facebook.com/mcmannfan).
Aladdin
Simon & Schuster, New York
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Lisa-McMann
Also by Lisa McMann
» » « «
THE UNWANTEDS SERIES
The Unwanteds
Island of Silence
Island of Fire
Island of Legends
Island of Shipwrecks
Island of Graves
Island of Dragons
» » « «
THE UNWANTEDS QUESTS SERIES
Dragon Captives
Dragon Bones
Dragon Ghosts
Dragon Curse
» » « «
FOR OLDER READERS:
Don’t Close Your Eyes
Visions
Cryer’s Cross
Dead to You
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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First Aladdin hardcover edition September 2019
Text copyright © 2019 by Lisa McMann
Jacket illustration copyright © 2019 by Owen Richardson
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Book designed by Karin Paprocki
This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.
ISBN 9781534416017 (hc)
ISBN 9781534416031 (eBook)