by Lisa McMann
Rohan closed his eyes in defeat.
“A lot of time has passed, and we don’t know any details,” Florence said gently. “I’m withholding judgment for now. But… I have little reason to doubt what Fifer is saying.”
“I agree,” said Sky quietly.
Seth nodded. “Fifer doesn’t lie.” A shadow crossed over his face. Unless it was for Thisbe. He shook the thought away—it didn’t make any sense. How would Fifer lying to all of them about this help Thisbe in any way?
Ishibashi spoke up. “ ‘Another way’… what does that mean?”
“I assume it means another way to take over leadership.”
“Impossible,” Maiven said. But her eyes narrowed, and she didn’t seem 100 percent sure.
Rohan remained quiet and withdrawn. Everything about this strange development seemed completely off. And he was furious that Florence and the others hadn’t gone after the twins when he’d suggested it, right after they’d been abducted. Back when he’d tried to convince them that it was the right thing to do. Nobody knew the Revinir like he and the other black-eyed children did. Why hadn’t they listened to him? Why hadn’t he pushed harder? He sank down into the dragon’s soft back, feeling stunned. How could Thisbe possibly do something like this? Not just to him, but to their people? It made Rohan sick enough to want to throw up. He thought he knew her.
Maybe this was Fifer’s way of saying something else. Was she being forced to send it? Was Florence sure that it sounded like Fifer? What if the note was really from the Revinir? “Are you sure Fifer wrote these?” he asked, desperate to make sense of this.
“She would have had to be the one to write it and send it magically,” said Florence. “No one else could do it and impersonate her.”
“But if a dragon were hovering over her, she might write whatever the Revinir told her to write,” Rohan argued. “I just can’t believe this is true. Thisbe would never, ever do this.” He felt like he was repeating himself, but he couldn’t let it go.
“I can’t fathom it either,” Maiven said. “Florence, could Fifer be compromised?”
“Absolutely,” said Florence. “And if she is, the Revinir will be anxiously waiting for our response.”
Seth glanced up. “So it would torture the Revinir if we don’t answer right away?”
Florence raised an eyebrow. “Could be a good technique. Maybe not quite yet, though. We want to reassure Fifer in case she’s really in a dire situation.”
“We have to at least act like we believe what Fiferrr is telling us,” Simber said. “In case Rrrohan’s position is corrrect.”
Simber’s comments made Rohan feel a little better. But what Fifer had said about Thisbe being more evil than good stuck in his craw. He’d waved off that argument since the beginning. But he remembered when the Revinir had announced it—he’d been with Thisbe in the catacombs, near the river. And Thisbe had clearly been bothered by it then. But he thought she’d gotten past it. Maybe she hadn’t after all. Had the dragon-woman worn her down so much that she’d started to believe her?
“What other way could there possibly be?” Rohan asked suddenly. “Surely Maiven or the ghost dragons would know if there’s another way to take over the rulership of the land of the dragons.”
“Without support from either body of residents,” Maiven explained, “there isn’t another way. I’ve been racking my memory trying to think of what she could possibly mean.”
Florence tapped her chin, making a clacking sound. “Perhaps she thinks the rest of you can be coerced to vote for her.”
Rohan and Maiven looked at each other with doubt in their eyes. There was no way any of the black-eyed children would turn their backs on Maiven Taveer. It was impossible. And Thisbe knew it.
Rohan began to despair again. “Nothing makes sense.” he said.
“Any thoughts on how I should respond?” Florence asked.
“We rrrespond as if we believe Fiferrr,” said Simber. “Whetherrr she’s telling the trrruth or trrrying to send us a hidden message, we must go along with it to keep herrr safety intact. She’s intelligent. I don’t believe this is a game in any way. Something’s verrry wrrrong, eitherrr with Thisbe orrr with Fiferrr.”
“Or both of them,” said Sky.
Florence glanced at Maiven and Rohan. “Agreed?”
“Yes,” said Maiven.
Rohan hesitated, then added, “Is there a way to give her a clue that we are skeptical about all of this? So she knows we’re not swallowing it whole?”
“I think so. Let me work on this.” Florence wrote her response and showed it to the others:
Fifer,
We’re shocked beyond belief. We are on our way to Ashguard’s palace, hoping to arrive tomorrow morning. Don’t despair—we’re coming to help.
Florence
The group agreed that the “beyond belief” part conveyed what they wanted to say while still being clear that they sensed the danger she was in and were taking it seriously. Florence sent it, and they dispersed to brood individually.
Aaron had no words. Only the questions pounding him. Was this somehow his fault? Could he have detected this kind of behavior, having turned on everyone himself at one point?
Rohan took to a quiet spot near the back of the dragon to be alone. He still couldn’t get over what Fifer was saying. If it were true… Ugh—he could hardly even imagine. His heart would be broken forever. There was no worse betrayal in his mind. Thisbe knew how dedicated he was to getting the land back to the rightful owners. She had to know how much this would hurt him. Didn’t she care? If only he could talk to her. Find out what was happening.
He could hardly get through the suspense one minute at a time. He didn’t know if he could last until they found Fifer the next day. Where was Thisbe? The castle? Would she be alone? He glanced at Quince. Perhaps Rohan could go to the castle to check things out while the others went to find Fifer. That would be risky, though. He’d have to clear it with Maiven and Florence, and he could already predict the answer to be a hearty “no.” But he just wanted to talk to Thisbe so badly his head ached.
A few weeks before, Florence had awarded Rohan his very own loaded component vest. He slipped his fingers into one of the pockets and drew out a send spell component, then turned it around in his hands.
He knew it was a bad idea to send anything to Thisbe, knowing that she was probably with the Revinir. Yet… he couldn’t stop agonizing about everything. How could she do this to him? He clutched the buttons of his shirt, near his heart, as if that would stop the pain from oozing through his chest.
But it only intensified. He’d never felt more abandoned in his life. Not even when his mother had forced him to go away. Thisbe’s betrayal was worse than that. It felt cold-blooded. Calculated. Almost impossible to believe. But what if… what if it was true? What if her evil side had taken point for the first time? What if all this time her evil levels were increasing and Rohan just hadn’t known? What if her turning to work with the Revinir was just an inevitable thing that Rohan had convinced himself wouldn’t ever happen? How naive of him.
He pictured Thisbe, the way she looked at him. There was never any evil in her eyes. Only kindness. Gentleness. Even… love. He let out a low moan as tears sprang to his eyes. His heart was breaking right here, on a ghost dragon’s back, and he couldn’t stop it. He would do anything to end the pain. He had to know if Thisbe had really betrayed them. He couldn’t stand it. Taking the component, he removed the pencil and hunched over so the others wouldn’t see. Through tears he held it poised, then wrote:
Thisbe…
A sob escaped him just from writing her name. How could she hurt him like this? He remembered the letter he’d written to her. It was folded up inside his pants pocket. He’d poured his heart out to her in that letter, and now he wanted to rip it up. Burn it. Throw it into the ocean. She didn’t deserve to read it.
Rohan hated himself for feeling this way when they still weren’t sure what was happening. B
ut along with that feeling came an instance of clarity and acknowledgment. A reluctant moment of awareness of the danger he could cause by sending a spell to Thisbe. He stared at Thisbe’s name on the paper and let out a breath. Then he replaced the pencil and slipped the send component back inside his pocket. He curled up on his side with his back to everyone, his eyes on the sea, his tears lost in the silvery ethereal skin of the dragon.
A Perilous Step
Thank goodness,” said Dev when he saw the send spell zipping up the stairs toward Fifer.
Fifer hastily reached for it and opened it. The latest letter from Florence melted into a note in her hand, and Fifer read it aloud:
Fifer,
We’re shocked beyond belief. We are on our way to Ashguard’s palace, hoping to arrive tomorrow morning. Don’t despair—we’re coming to help.
Florence
She read it again, pausing on the first line. “We’re shocked beyond belief.” She looked up at Dev. “Is that supposed to mean something? Is she saying they don’t believe me?”
“I don’t think we can parse each word right now, do you? You have to tell her to steer clear of this place.”
“Right, right,” said Fifer, who was already preparing a response.
Florence,
Do not come to Ashguard’s palace. Go to the cavelands instead and remain there until I can figure out what to do. It’s too dangerous for you to come here. There are dragons waiting to attack anyone who approaches. They’ve just killed Shimmer and the rest of my birds.
Fifer
Fifer read it to Dev. “Sound okay? I don’t have much more room to explain further.”
“It’s a bit shocking,” Dev said. “But it conveys the urgency of the situation. Get it out there.”
Fifer sent it, and they were left to wait agonizingly again. Dev excused himself. “I’m going to try to communicate with the dragons again,” he said.
“It’s so dangerous, Dev,” said Fifer. “Can’t you do it from inside? When Thisbe roared by accident the first time, she was up here.”
Dev shrugged. “All right. I hope it’s not too annoying.”
Fifer was more relieved than she cared to admit and totally willing to tolerate Dev’s roars if it meant he was safe inside. She wasn’t sure why she was feeling so clingy toward Dev lately. Probably because Thisbe was gone and in danger. Fifer didn’t normally need to rely on anybody—she was somewhat of a loner anyway, especially lately. But maybe it was the severity of the situation that made Fifer really appreciate having a friend around.
Dev began making grunting and growling noises by the back window, trying to get the dragons to notice him without setting the curtains on fire. Fifer went to the bookshelves. Maybe something here could give her an idea about what else they could do to put them in the best position to escape these dragons in case Thisbe called on them to fight. She looked up at the shelves that were far above her head and wondered if there had ever been a ladder here. If so, it was long gone.
Spying a potential foothold at eye level, Fifer went to get the desk chair to help her get to that height so she could look at the books up there. She climbed up, hanging on to the shelves and anchoring a few invisible hooks as well, and started reading the titles. “Caring for Dragons,” she said. “The Keeping of Dragons. Dragon Rulers.” All of the books on one shelf were about dragons. She continued. “Living in Harmony: A History of Dragon and Human Interaction in Grimere.” She pulled it off the shelf and dropped it to the floor with a loud bang. Dev gasped, startled by the noise.
“Sorry,” said Fifer with a smirk. The next book didn’t have any words on the spine, so she pulled it out and blew the dust off. The title on the cover was in strange old-fashioned curly letters, and the words were that of the ancient language. But the illustration showed an army of humans fighting a single dragon and apparently slaying it. Her eyes widened. She dropped that book on top of the other and climbed back down to the chair and the floor.
Dev let out a gravelly howl that did absolutely nothing. Fifer laughed, and Dev muttered something under his breath, clearly annoyed. “I can’t remember how to do it,” he said, this time loud enough for Fifer to hear.
“It’s got to come from deep inside you,” said Fifer, trying to remember how he and Thisbe had sounded before. “Let it roll around a little in your chest at the beginning.”
Dev raised an eyebrow but said nothing, even though it was somewhat annoying to have Fifer, who had no clue about how to roar, give him directions. Still, he tried doing what she said, and, surprisingly, the growl seemed deeper and more intense. He let it roll in his chest and then build and shoot from his throat. It sounded like a real dragon—a small one, but a real one.
Fifer clamped her hands over her ears, her eyes going wide. “That’s it!” She went to the window and looked out. “They heard you. They’re coming!”
Dev looked out. He watched for a second and then roared again, shooting fire toward the ceiling. The dragons kept coming. “I’m going down there,” Dev said. “I think there’s something to this. I don’t know what yet. But maybe we can use them to help us leave the property and then somehow escape from them.”
Fifer sighed. It had to be almost impossible to escape a dragon. But maybe Dev was onto something. “I’m coming with you,” she said, and she took off after him down the stairs. Round and round they went until they neared the second floor. One of the dragons was poking his face into the second-story window. Dev and Fifer slid to a stop and stared at the creature. He was about twice the size of the Revinir, but not nearly as big as the ghost dragons. He eyed the two teenagers, his giant nostrils dripping and flaring, his lip curling defiantly.
“He doesn’t look happy,” Fifer said.
“No, not really,” said Dev. He inched toward it, then roared again.
Fifer cringed and ducked her head. The red dragon seemed agitated by the sound, and he reared back, then roared in response, sending a wave of fire at them.
Dev swore and dove on top of Fifer as he tried to shield her and get away. His shirt caught and lit up the staircase. He screamed in pain and tried scrambling even more, stepping over Fifer in a blind attempt to escape the dragon. Fifer slid out from under him and threw herself on Dev’s back to suffocate the flames; then she grabbed him around the chest and pulled him up the stairs. He got his footing, and before the dragon could shower them with more fire, they rounded the curve and kept going, moving on sheer adrenaline all the way to the top.
Dev collapsed in the library, out of breath and his back beginning to throb. He swore in the common language and started shaking, curling up on his side and writhing. Fifer whipped open her smoldering robe and fished out the healer’s kit. “Lie on your stomach,” she said, glad that she’d spent at least a little time in the hospital ward learning from Henry and Carina. “I’m going to remove what’s left of your shirt, okay? I’ve got some medicine. It’ll make you feel better pretty quickly, but I’ve got to clean you up first.”
Dev’s teeth started chattering. Fifer ran for a blanket and covered his lower body, then pulled out the wooden dagger Dev had carved for her and started ripping through his shirt to get it off. Some of the fabric had melted onto his skin, and when Fifer tried to remove it, Dev squealed in pain. She cringed and removed it anyway, trying to hold him still. Then she found a clean shirt and wet it down with water from Dev’s canteen. She dabbed Dev’s back to clean it. He screamed.
It was the most horrible thing Fifer had ever had to do, and the way Dev was screaming rattled her, but she continued diligently. Finally she applied the salve from the kit and silently thanked Henry for making her carry it with her. It had come in handy multiple times already.
Dev’s moans quieted as the salve numbed the pain and began to heal him. Fifer fetched her canteen for Dev to drink from and gave him a capsule of herbs to swallow, then she brought him a pillow from the sofa to rest his head on. When she had done all she could, Fifer sat back and wiped the sweat off her brow. “T
hat could have been disastrous,” she murmured. She shook her head slightly, looking at Dev lying on the floor facing away from her. She pleaded silently for the medicine to work fast, because she was going to need him. They’d already lost the birds. Now this. Was everything going to fall apart? She hoped things were going better for Thisbe than they were for her.
A Moment of Weakness
The team from Artimé was approaching the Island of Fire when Fifer’s latest message arrived. Before she read it, Florence directed everybody to land on the volcanic island so they could wait for it to submerge and take them to the crater lake in Grimere. Sky and Seth planned to lead the way for those who hadn’t traveled in this fashion before. It would shave a day off their travels, and the mouth of the volcano was big enough for the ghost dragons to travel through as well. While Sky gave instructions to aim for the first portal, Florence opened Fifer’s message and had a look.
“Simber!” Florence called. Rohan and Maiven came quickly as well.
“What is it this time?” asked Rohan nervously. His world had turned upside down in an instant. Was this just one more thing?
“Now Fifer says we shouldn’t go to Ashguard’s palace, which is where she supposedly is. She says it’s too dangerous, and…” Florence looked up with grave concern. “She says the dragons have just killed Shimmer and the rest of Fifer’s birds.”
“What?” whispered Rohan. The birds? He caught Seth’s troubled gaze. Neither boy knew what to think.
“Nonsense,” said Simber. “Now I’m cerrrtain the Rrrevinirrr is dictating these messages. She doesn’t want us to come.”
Florence studied the note. “It sounds like Fifer’s way of speaking, and it’s her handwriting. But you’re right, Simber. This is too suspicious. Maiven?”
“If she’s telling the truth, the dragons could harm us if we approach. Is she suggesting an alternative location?”