by Lisa McMann
“That’s where the Revinir dropped us,” Fifer said. “We went right through the rotted roof and two or three floors before we stopped.”
Dev muttered something unsavory before turning to Fifer with new respect. “How are you alive after a fall like that?”
“Luck. And soft rotten wood.”
They neared the top. Dev pushed ahead, climbing swiftly to his home. To see Thisbe. He came up through the floor and spied her on his sleeping sofa. Their eyes connected, and Dev stopped abruptly, feeling a million emotions at once and not sure how to express them. Anger bubbled up first. He started toward her, balling up his fists. “Why—how?” he said, his voice cracking so much that he could hardly finish the question. “How could you!”
“Dev.” Thisbe got up and hobbled over to him. She gripped the railing for support, and tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry. And I’m so happy to see you alive! Please forgive me. I can explain everything.”
Dev stared with doubt in his eyes for a long moment, then dropped them and noticed her limp. “Your ankle…”
“It’s fine. But, Dev—you’ve been on my mind every day. I’m so sorry we had to leave you.”
“I saw you go,” Dev choked out. He turned away and put his hand over his face as Fifer reached the top and hung back. Then he looked at Thisbe again. “I saw all of you on the ghost dragons. I called out to you. I screamed your name. And you didn’t turn around.”
Thisbe gripped her tangled hair, distraught. “I didn’t know,” she wailed. “I didn’t hear you. Where were you?”
“In one of the towers. Locked up. She saw right through my act.” He stumbled over to the window, trying to get away from the emotion, but it followed him. “I told you she would.”
Thisbe grimaced. “We couldn’t risk checking for you. There were dragons everywhere. I assumed when you didn’t come to our meeting place that she’d sent you to the dungeon.”
“Well, she didn’t.” Dev sniffed hard and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then took a deep breath and let it out. “I warned you it wouldn’t work. That I wasn’t a good enough actor. She—she tried to kill me.”
“She thinks you’re dead,” Thisbe said. “She told us so. I’m so sick about all of this. And I understand if you can never forgive me. I really thought our plan would work. But in the end… well, you turned out to be the sacrifice. You saved the rest of us. And we were all planning to come back, to find you and take down the Revinir just as soon as we could. But then she abducted Fifer and me from Artimé and told us you were dead. And I… I felt like I died inside. You’re like a brother to me, Dev. You’re my family now. I’m so happy you’re alive. How did you escape?”
Dev narrowed his eyes and looked sharply at Thisbe, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. Some of his anger slipped away at her words. “It was Drock,” he said in a quiet voice so the dragons outside wouldn’t hear. “He saved my life. He’s not under her mind control after all. Not yet, anyway.”
“Seriously?” said Fifer, moving farther into the room. “That’s great to know. Wonderful news.”
Dev turned, realizing she’d been standing there. “Yes.” He looked back at Thisbe. “We have a lot of things to talk about.”
Thisbe nodded. Fifer joined her sister on the sofa. The twins put their previous argument aside so they could fill Dev in on everything that had happened after the ghost dragons had brought Thisbe and her crew to Artimé, including the civil war they’d helped win. Then Dev told them what had happened with Drock catching him and bringing him to the cavelands, and his time with Astrid, and then coming here. He told them about the biggest fright of his life in the river, hiding from the Revinir and the red dragons, and the dread that came with seeing the Revinir return. So much had happened, and their stories stretched on through the afternoon. By the time they were tired of talking, some of Dev’s hurt feelings were soothed. But it would take him a while to build trust with Thisbe again.
“Have you eaten anything?” Dev asked after his stomach growled loudly. “I had to leave my fish in a hurry when I saw the Revinir coming, and I haven’t had any food since.” He looked around. “Where is it? Did it go bad?”
“We weren’t sure how long it had been sitting there,” said Fifer. “So I put it in the courtyard, thinking we could use it for bait, or fashion the bones to make fishing hooks or something.” She glanced at him. “But I found the water pump. We’re a little worried about what the dragons will do if we go to the river, but we don’t really have a choice. So I’ve been trying to figure out how to catch fish without fishing line. Do you still have yours?”
“Better yet, I have a net,” he said. “But do you think the dragons will come after me?”
“They’ve had ample chance to nab you,” Fifer reasoned. “They know you’re here.”
Thisbe added, “We think their job is to intimidate us and keep Fifer and me from leaving. So I don’t think they’ll hurt you.”
“Yeah,” said Fifer. “The Revinir is trying to break us down so we join her side.”
Dev snorted with laughter for the first time. “That’s a joke,” he said. “Like it would ever happen. She’s delirious.”
Fifer shifted uneasily, and Thisbe gave her a “See, I told you so” look. But neither started in on that heated topic again. It would have to wait.
“I’ll go with you to fish,” Fifer said to Dev. “The dragons didn’t do anything at all when I went to get water from the pump earlier. Hey, Thiz, are you feeling strong enough to stoke the fire so we can cook?”
“I think I can manage it,” said Thisbe. She handed Fifer her empty canteen, and the two exchanged a wary glance. “We’ll talk later about the other thing,” Thisbe added, “but Dev’s right. And we’re going to need to contact Florence. Soon.”
Dev raised an eyebrow, not sure what that conversation was about. Fifer shrugged as if she didn’t care, even though she cared deeply. She’d have to figure out a different angle to convince Thisbe. But meanwhile, she was starving. She slipped both canteen straps over her head and one arm. Dev took his along too. As they exited the courtyard, the dragons barely acknowledged them, though the dragon at the back corner by the river seemed concerned they would try to travel beyond the boundary he’d set. Still, he let them go and adjusted his position to watch closely. After a while Dev and Fifer got used to him being there.
They quickly fell into their old pattern of friendship when it had been at its best, in the forest before Dev and Arabis had fallen under the Revinir’s mind control. They chatted as they fished, filling in many of the questions they had for each other and adding detail to their stories. But Fifer didn’t bring up her idea about the Revinir. Instead, she had something else she wanted to express.
“Thisbe truly is sorry,” she told Dev. “I want you to know that. She was sick about leaving you behind. She cares about you… and so do I. I think she felt like it was all her fault when we heard you were dead. She would have never forgiven herself if it had been true.”
Dev was taken aback by Fifer’s kind words and couldn’t look at her. The Revinir had told him that no one cared about him. That sentiment had echoed a lifetime of abuse as a slave for a selfish princess who only liked him when he was assisting her in making mischief and taking the blame for her misdeeds. Could the Revinir be wrong? Or was Fifer lying just to appease him?
After a minute Dev grunted, then checked the position of the nearest dragon, wanting to be careful what he said in its presence. That the dragons had seen him alive was already a risk, because if the Revinir thought to ask them if they had, they’d answer truthfully. But it was too late to change that, so he wanted them to have as little information about him as possible. He scooped the net swiftly and pulled out a flopping fish, then slid it on the grass for Fifer to handle. He leaned toward her, then whispered, “I’m just not sure where we go from here. We can’t let the Revinir know I’m alive. And I’m sure she’ll be coming back for you eventually.”
* * *<
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By sunset the three were full and feeling more comfortable physically. Thisbe’s ankle and Fifer’s wrist and their other injuries and aches from the fall were healing nicely, thanks to the magical medication Henry had made sure the head mage carried. They were settling in with one another too, but kept the conversation light—they were all still dealing with the emotional reunion and new situation of living in this onion bulb together, and figuring out what life looked like from here.
And Fifer’s mind was distracted by something else entirely: how to convince Thisbe of what they needed to do… and somehow include Dev without revealing to the Revinir that he was very much alive.
Resolved
In Artimé, Rohan did his best to step into a sort of leadership role, though it was weird because this wasn’t his island or his people. He observed as more and more people and creatures from other islands began to arrive in Artimé, and he knew without a doubt that the good mages of this land had more than a surface knowledge of their neighbors and a relationship with them. They had strong bonds that could only have been built over time. The people from Warbler, Karkinos, and the Island of Shipwrecks were clearly dedicated to the Artiméans. And so were a surprising number of the people in Quill. When they heard that Florence was calling for their help, they flocked to the shore in such great numbers that Aaron had to take a moment to magically extend the lawn so everyone could fit. Even some of the former dissenters begrudgingly joined in, for their lives had been saved multiple times by the fighting teams of Artimé. And perhaps seeing what a civil war could do to their precious land had changed a few of them along the way.
As Florence trained everyone, Rohan watched the seasoned generation of leaders, like Lani and Samheed and Aaron, and the elder scientists like Ishibashi, as well as Queen Maiven, with reverence and respect. He absorbed their moves and decisions and tried to figure out the mental steps they took that led them to make the choices they made. He was a sponge in the middle of the lawn, soaking up the expertise of the ones who’d built such a great example of leadership. And he took Florence’s request seriously. He didn’t want to let her down.
But he missed Thisbe. Desperately. Achingly. She’d brought out the boldness in him, and now that she was gone, some of his courage had left him. He knew he had to flesh it out again on his own, but it wasn’t easy. He was in a foreign land. Anxious about his pria. His love.
Rohan was a young man. Fourteen, on the verge of fifteen at his best guess—he wasn’t sure of his age. But his connection with Thisbe was electric. It was life changing. And he knew she felt something for him, too, though it might not be on the same level. She was driven by duty, as was he, and that in itself seemed enough to make them compatible. When separated, they were strong. But together they were stronger. Fluid. Dare he say it? Unstoppable. Whether they worked together as friends or something more was to be decided by fate. But working with Thisbe for life was no longer an if. They had formed something, an unbreakable bond, that couldn’t be removed no matter how much distance was between them. Thisbe had changed Rohan’s life. And even if he could only admire her from afar, so be it. But he knew that their connection had solidified something incredibly powerful between them that no human nor beast nor dragon-woman could sever.
Love was a strong word. He knew that, too, and anyone who hadn’t experienced this feeling couldn’t possibly relate to it. If what Rohan felt for Thisbe wasn’t love, it was a step above it. Something transcendent that hadn’t yet been named.
Luckily, he could concentrate on other things, though it was difficult at times. But when it came to assisting Thisbe’s people and statues that she counted on most, he was all in. Whatever it took, he would do it. His passion and drive had the wondrous ability to shove aside his weariness and fatigue. And his desire to be as powerful as possible against the Revinir was so strong that he would do anything… to learn everything.
That’s why staying in Artimé wasn’t quite as painful as it could have been, though he knew Thisbe had been captured again. He agreed with Florence and Thisbe that there was only one chance to beat the Revinir. And at first it seemed like their chance had been fumbled or lost because of Thisbe and Fifer’s capture. But Florence and Maiven didn’t waver, so neither did Rohan. The two of them knew that they all had to be at their strongest in order to continue on. And Rohan wouldn’t stand by and let anyone eclipse him. This was his duty to the land of the dragons, and his duty to Queen Maiven Taveer and the crown. He wouldn’t let the Revinir or anyone supporting her stand in his way. He was ready to be a great warrior like Florence. To assist Thisbe and Maiven. And to eliminate anyone who sided with the evil dragon-woman, for no doubt she was recruiting people left and right while holding all the dragons hostage. There was no question about putting an end to her. And he would convince his fellow black-eyed slaves of this too. They had one chance to knock out this monster, and they had to succeed. There was no alternative except to lose everything, including wiping the black-eyed rulers out of existence. And with so much life left to live, Rohan wouldn’t take that as an answer. The upcoming weeks would be the greatest education Rohan had ever received. And he was ready for it.
There was nothing that could possibly make his faith in Thisbe and her people waver. They were going to win. He could feel it—things were going to go their way eventually. But in the meantime, without Thisbe there, the chasm of loneliness in Rohan’s heart was growing deeper by the day.
He only wished he could talk to her. Just once. Just for a moment. He had a slew of send components now, but he knew what Florence had said. Under no circumstances should anyone contact Fifer or Thisbe. It could endanger their lives. So with great reluctance, Rohan kept his components safely tucked away next to his heart.
Meeting of the Minds
A week passed in the palace surrounded by red dragons, and every day Fifer had to fight Thisbe to not call on Florence to come for them. To convince her to hold off from communicating at all for now. “We only have a few send components,” Fifer argued. “We have to save them for when we really need them. But right now, Florence is probably training everybody and making our army stronger, and you and I are living a pretty good life here with Dev while the Revinir thinks we’re suffering. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“I get that,” said Thisbe impatiently, “but if we call Florence now, she can send someone for us and we’ll all be in Artimé training together.”
“Ah, but then the Revinir will find out, and she’ll be even angrier. And you’re assuming our people can fight off four dragons. I feel confident they will attack if we attempt to leave, and even if we succeed in escaping, they’ll follow us if we don’t slay them! We can’t have our people fighting those dragons when they’re not the ones who matter. There’s only one dragon who matters, and we need to save our fighters for her. I really wish you’d listen to my idea.”
By now, Dev had heard bits and pieces of Fifer’s backward-sounding plan to join the Revinir’s side, and he’d agreed strongly with Thisbe. But he hadn’t heard Fifer explain it directly. “All right,” he said from across the room. “I’ll take the bait. What is your plan exactly, Fifer?”
Thisbe rolled her eyes and turned away, but didn’t try to stop Fifer from answering.
Fifer fidgeted with her robe, not expecting the abrupt question and not wanting to mess up the answer again. But she’d been mulling things over for a long time, and she was ready.
“Okay,” she said. “Here is where we stand. From our best deductions, based on what all three of us know, the Revinir came here some time ago to scout out the area and discovered that it was remote and deserted—that was when Dev hid in the river.”
Dev nodded. “Agreed.”
Thisbe didn’t indicate she was listening.
Fifer continued. “She probably scouted out other areas too, and decided that since Thisbe was so good at escaping the castle, she needed a new place to keep her from which she couldn’t escape. So she chose this palace—she could e
asily station dragons around here to keep her locked in the area, but she wouldn’t starve to death, and she could find shelter from the weather. She doesn’t want Thisbe dead, but she wants to break her. She believes that because Thisbe’s level of evilness is greater than her level of goodness, she’s the easiest nut to crack of all the black-eyed rulers. And rightly or wrongly, she concludes that because of this, Thisbe will be the one most likely to join her. In her mind, they will successfully create the bond between dragon and black-eyed ruler that is necessary to take over authentic leadership of Grimere and the land of the dragons.”
Dev frowned. “What is necessary to do that? I’ve never known the rules.”
“Maiven Taveer said that the dragons must be of sound mind, which they are not, and they must vote for a leader, which they have not done. And the black-eyed people appoint a ruler, which they have done—it’s Queen Maiven Taveer, not Thisbe. We don’t think the Revinir knows these rules, because she believes she can just assume the position of head dragon. And she doesn’t know that Maiven is alive, much less that she’s the reigning queen of Grimere.”
“Okay,” said Dev, trying to keep up.
Fifer continued. “But she does seem to know that the ruling dragon and the black-eyed ruler must also officially choose each other to be partners in order to restore the leadership of the land. Without that agreement, the rightful rulership cannot be restored, and the ghost dragons won’t be able to pass on to their next life.”
“And you think the answer to this is for Thisbe to pretend she’s ready to make that commitment to the Revinir?” asked Dev. “So it gives Thisbe the power and the title of ruler alongside a tyrant—which would make Thisbe look like a terrible person.”
“Exactly!” said Thisbe, turning sharply. “And even if I wanted to do that, which I don’t, the bigger problem is that the black-eyed people choose their ruler, and so do the dragons. We’ve already got our ruler in Maiven—”