by Lisa McMann
“Let’s quickly grab the ones we lost,” Thisbe called out to Gorgrun. “You can land on the lawn by the fountain. We’ll be far enough from the mansion that their magic won’t reach us unless they come outside. And if that happens, we’ll see them coming. I’ll release the spells on our friends, and we can figure out what to do next.”
Thisbe was deeply puzzled and very worried. What had happened here in her absence? Where were all of her allies? She didn’t recognize anyone in the windows. Where was Simber, for crying out loud? He was always at the forefront of battle. And Florence—the Magical Warrior trainer would never shy away from a fight. She was the lead. And what about Fifer and Aaron and Seth and the others? Were they hiding somewhere? Or had they somehow been… overcome? A sick feeling came over her. She couldn’t lose Fifer the way she’d lost Alex. Where is she?
As Thisbe released the scatterclip spells and helped the three board Gorgrun’s back again, she grew more and more alarmed about her missing friends. If they had been overtaken by Frieda Stubbs and the dissenters, where were they? Somewhere inside the mansion? Or… dead… even the statues? Killed by fellow Artiméans? If not, what were they doing? Where had they gone? Were they in hiding? Had Thisbe and the dragons unwittingly bungled something?
Thisbe had a hundred more questions and no answers. “Let’s retreat!” Thisbe called. Gorgrun and Quince thundered across the lawn and rose up over the water. “Circle the entire island, please. I want to have a look at what’s going on elsewhere.” Maybe they’d see someone they actually knew.
As the dragons left the dissenters hanging out of the mansion windows, watching the giant ghost creatures fly away, Thisbe ripped her fingers through her short curls.
“Perhaps we should torch the place after all,” Quince called out in an upbeat voice. “It didn’t seem like you cared about any of the people in there.”
Thisbe stared at the back of Quince’s head. “Didn’t you tell me once that you couldn’t cause the deaths of people?” she said. “That’s what you told Rohan and me when you brought us to the castle the first time.”
“That’s only in the land of the dragons,” said Gorgrun. “Our motherland. That rule has to do with the black-eyed rulers and the dragons, and the way the rulership is transferred from one generation of dragons to the next. We cannot do the work for the next generation—they must prove themselves worthy by performing the takeover.”
“Oh,” said Thisbe, glancing at Rohan and Asha, who were nearest her. “That’ll never happen as long as they’re mind controlled.”
“The Revinir is a dragon,” Rohan pointed out. “And she has taken over.”
“There’s no way any of us black-eyed people would approve the partnership and pledge to work with her,” said Thisbe. “The transfer can’t happen until there are two agreed-upon leaders. Right, Maiven?”
“Correct,” said Maiven.
It gave them some comfort. But it didn’t diminish the Revinir’s power.
Turning back to address Gorgrun’s question about torching the place, Thisbe called out to him. “I’m not sure where my allies are at the moment, so I don’t want to set any fires, in case they’re inside.” She didn’t want to torch the mansion, regardless, she added silently. The mansion was more than a home. It was a symbol of goodness. Of life and love and safety for children being purged from their families in the only world they’d ever known. Losing the mansion would be the end of something so many Unwanteds had come to find tremendous comfort within.
“Besides,” said Thisbe, who was still justifying her decision, “the people who attacked us are Artiméans. They’re our own people.” She blew out a breath and looked down at the jungle, wondering if any of her allies were hiding there. “This is a very confusing situation,” she added. “All of these people should be our friends. But now they’re enemies. I don’t understand what happened.”
“War is strange,” Quince said in a somber voice. “We’ve seen enough of it, haven’t we, Gorgrun? Maiven? I remember that well enough.”
“Indeed,” Maiven murmured. Quince curved inland and Gorgrun followed. Soon they were flying above one of the four quadrants of Quill, casting vast shadows over the land and striking fear in the people who were out and about, apparently unaware of the strife in nearby Artimé.
Maiven approached Thisbe. “What are you thinking about?” she asked her quietly. “Is there any way I can help?”
Maiven’s humble offer reminded Thisbe that the woman standing beside her was a great warrior. Thisbe had become so used to dealing with problems on her own that she’d nearly forgotten she had wisdom at her fingertips. She swiped her hands down her arms to resettle her scales as images swept through the back of her mind of the rogue usurpers and the battles in Grimere. “Thank you, Grandmother,” Thisbe said. “I’ll take any advice you wish to offer.”
Maiven touched Thisbe’s hand. “I think you’re smart to circle the island. Is it strange that life seems casual below us here compared to your magical mansion area?”
“I think it points to the fact that Quill isn’t involved in this war,” Thisbe said. “They don’t seem to know it’s happening. That’s not totally surprising—the two entities work independently.”
“I see,” said Maiven. “And what are we looking for?”
“Large statues. You know what Simber looks like. Florence is a very tall, muscular, ebony-colored stone warrior woman with a quiver and arrows on her back. You can’t miss her.”
“And you don’t think they’re part of the group in the mansion?”
“No,” said Thisbe decisively. “Unless they’re somehow being held against their will. I can’t imagine how, though.”
Both of them studied the ground below, looking for any sign of Simber or Florence or the others. Talking to Maiven had calmed Thisbe enough to think things through, but the fear for Thisbe and Aaron remained. She fingered a small folded drawing in her pocket, which Florence had scribbled for her when she was training. Then she pulled it out and opened it. “I think we need to risk sending a seek spell to Florence,” she said. “At least that’ll tell us where she is. I don’t want to waste time searching the whole island if she’s in the mansion.”
“Are you sure? You said earlier that it might also worry her. Or reveal to others that you’re looking for her, thus putting her in danger.”
“It could do both,” Thisbe admitted. “But the people who fired on us already know we’re here. As for worrying her—well, that’s the least of our problems right now. Besides, she knows we’re coming, so she should be expecting us.”
“Well thought out,” said Maiven. “I say it’s worth the risk.”
With that, Thisbe made up her mind. She held the drawing, closed her eyes, and concentrated. A moment later a ball of light shot out and soared straight and true to a spot in Quill not far from the border of Artimé. Thisbe and the others followed the trail of fading light with their eyes, and Gorgrun started after it. Then Thisbe gasped when she saw a most peculiar sight.
“There!” Thisbe cried. “I see them! Gorgrun, Quince, head straight for that open area near the building, where that tall statue and four humans are dancing and waving.”
A Grand Attack
The first person Thisbe saw was Fifer. Her heart caught in her throat. Her sister was alive! Relief flooded her, but the animosity between them immediately resurfaced. Fifer looked disheveled and didn’t seem terribly pleased to see her. And while Thisbe was glad to see her sister, there were so many unsaid things between them that Thisbe couldn’t deal with right now. Especially with a war at hand. She turned her gaze abruptly to Florence. “I’m glad we found you,” she called out as Gorgrun came to a stop on the ground. “It wasn’t easy.”
“Thisbe! I’m so relieved you’re here,” Florence said as everyone disembarked the ghost dragon. Quince landed several yards away. “I nearly forgot you were coming. I mean, I know you said you were on your way, but with everything that has happened… time has flown by, and
it’s been a little hectic trying to keep track of everyone.” She came forward to greet Thisbe and meet the others.
Sky ran up to Thisbe and embraced her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. But Fifer’s approach was less enthusiastic. The twins exchanged a measured glance. Thisbe nodded.
“Hi,” Fifer said. There was ice in her voice. Thisbe had left in the middle of the night without telling her a thing about her plans. That, to Fifer, was on the verge of being unforgiveable. That’s not how the twins had ever been. To make matters worse, Thisbe had told Aaron she was leaving. What if Thisbe had been killed? It was terribly hurtful to Fifer, and while she’d been able to tamp down those hurt feelings while facing Frieda’s dissenters, they all came bubbling back up now.
Thisbe averted her gaze and took a nervous step back, then noticed Ava and Lukas, who were cowering at Florence’s legs and staring at the ghost dragons. It was an eclectic, small group in this remote place away from Artimé. “What are you doing here? Where is everybody else? We flew by the mansion, and it was so strange.” A pang of fear, like the one she’d felt when she and Sky had stumbled onto Alex’s grave, shot through her. “Is Aaron… and everyone… okay? They can’t all be…”
“We think they’re fine,” Sky said quickly. She glanced from one twin to the other, noting the cold greeting and stepping in to explain a few things to the newcomers. “Alive, at least. We believe they’re trapped in the remote rooms of the mansion.” She explained the attack and Fifer’s narrow escape. “The dissenters sent our frozen friends to the library and lounge and destroyed the main tubes so they couldn’t return.”
Thisbe stared. “Destroyed the tubes? That’s ridiculous! So they’re holding our friends as hostages and keeping us out of the mansion?”
“Yes,” said Sky.
“Simber too?”
“No,” Fifer said, lifting her chin and keeping her eyes narrowed, not quite looking at Thisbe. “He’s trapped in the theater.”
“What?” said Thisbe, incredulous.
Sky shook her head. “It’s a long story.”
“How did things get to this point?” Thisbe exclaimed. “I can’t believe this is happening in Artimé.” She turned to look at Rohan and Maiven and the others. “This is not the home I described to you. It’s not the peaceful, beautiful land I know.”
“We understand,” said Rohan. “Really. None of this reflects poorly on any of you.” He and the other black-eyed children were well aware of hardships in their homeland, so they could relate.
“I should introduce everyone,” said Thisbe. She’d forgotten with all the tension surrounding her. “Maiven, you remember… my sister.” Thisbe realized Fifer had no idea that Maiven was their grandmother. She didn’t feel like mentioning it at the moment, but neglecting to would only cause more problems with Fifer down the road. “Fifer, we have some interesting news—Maiven is actually our grandmother. We’ll explain everything later, but… I wanted to be sure to tell you right away.” She tried not to sound defensive, but it wasn’t really working.
Fifer’s eyes widened. “Grandmother?” she whispered. “What?” She looked at Maiven, and they greeted each other with an awkward handshake.
“We’ll have a good talk later,” Maiven said. “I know this must be strange news at such a stressful time.”
Fifer nodded.
“And… you know Rohan, too,” Thisbe said to Fifer.
“Of course,” said Rohan smoothly. He smiled and greeted Fifer, then quickly introduced everyone else, including himself to Florence, whom he’d heard so much about.
“Wait a second,” said Fifer, suddenly alarmed and dropping her cold demeanor. “Where’s Dev? Is he… dead?”
“No,” said Thisbe. “At least we don’t think so. But he’s captured.” She quickly brought Fifer and the others up to speed on what had happened, and how they’d been forced to leave Dev behind. Thisbe’s guilt over it was evident.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Sky said kindly. “He’s gotten through everything else.”
“I hope so,” Thisbe said. She looked at the ground.
Fifer remained silent, and Thisbe could feel her sister’s eyes boring into her. Did Fifer blame Thisbe for that, too?
Seeing the rising tension between the twins, Rohan stepped in again. “How can we help you, Florence?”
Florence pointed to the wall of the abandoned Quillitary building, where an enormous drawing of double doors hung. “I think we’ve almost got this working, and then we’ll have one more important player on our team. I hope so, anyway,” she added. “Thisbe, how are your drawing skills? Fifer and I have painstakingly fixed a tear in this drawing to make the 3-D door pop out so we can get to the theater, where Simber is being held. But I think a tiny bit of the ink needs to be touched up, because it still doesn’t work.”
“I’m not as good as Alex was,” said Thisbe. “But I’m not bad. Let me take a look.”
“The ripped spot is at the top right corner.” Florence gave Thisbe some of the drawing tools that she’d swiped from Claire and Gunnar’s house. Florence knelt and invited Thisbe to stand on her bent leg so she could reach the top of the drawing.
After climbing up, Thisbe peered closely at the knot of wood in the drawing that Florence pointed out. She didn’t see anything amiss at first. “You repaired the tear really well,” she said. “I can’t even see it. But I think maybe some of the ink in one part of this knot must have become too thin in the process of the tear and repair.” She studied it for a long moment, looking at it from multiple angles, then considered the utensils in her hand. She selected the thinnest pen with the softest brush and uncapped it, revealing a narrow, feathery tip. She touched it to her sleeve to test it—she needed to know how much pressure it would take and if it would bleed into the paper. If she added even the slightest bit too much ink to the door, it would be ruined forever.
“I have some scrap paper you can test on,” Fifer said gruffly, digging in her pants pocket for it. “We found it in Claire’s house. It’s the same thickness as the drawing.”
“Thanks,” Thisbe said, taking it. She tested the pen on the scrap, making a few broad strokes, then lightening the pressure until she felt like she had the right amount of ink for the job. Sweat beaded on her nose. She could feel an intense need to get this right, not just to release Simber but to prove to Fifer and Florence and Sky that she was here to help, to rise above her fight with Fifer and defend their land. “Okay,” she said after a while. “Here goes.” She lifted her hand and watched it tremble, then set her lips firmly, mentally telling herself to get through this.
Holding the pen poised, she brushed the air a few times to get the stroke at this angle and height, and then, without stopping the motions, let the pen lightly sweep across the knot of wood. Only once, and then she pulled back, expecting the door to come to life and push out from the wall. But it didn’t. The drawing remained two-dimensional.
Thisbe blew out a breath, then repeated the action while everyone else watched silently. The door still didn’t change.
Had she overdone it? Or did it still need something? Without having memorized the theater doors, Thisbe wasn’t sure. She was only going on instinct—how should this tiny part appear? It didn’t look too heavy, so maybe the knot should be even darker? Thisbe wiped the sweat off her face as the others continued looking on with strained expressions. Then she brushed the paper once more, ever so lightly, and leaned back, whispering, “Come on. Come on.”
This time the enormous double doors pressed out from the wall, nearly a foot thick. The handles and hinges pushed out even farther. Thisbe stepped back and lost her balance, trying to get out of the way. Florence steadied her and helped her jump to safety. Then the two took another step back together. It was a stunning sight to see a drawing come to life—especially one so large.
The people from Grimere applauded. They’d never seen anything like it.
“Nice work, Thisbe,” Florence said.
“Thanks,” sh
e said. “I didn’t think I’d be able to do that.” She caught Fifer’s glance and they both looked away, but not before Thisbe saw that Fifer’s expression had softened slightly. “Open the doors,” Thisbe said coolly. “Let’s get Simber out of there. Everybody stand back! And don’t be scared,” she added to her newest friends. “He looks frightening, but he won’t hurt you.”
Fifer grabbed the handles, turned them until they gave a loud click, then swung them open, revealing the backs of the theater seats in the dimly lit auditorium and a long, wide center aisle running toward the stage at the far end.
Halfway up the aisle, facing them, was Simber. The snarl on his face melted at the sight of Florence and two of his favorite humans, Fifer and Thisbe, and behind them two enormous ghost dragons, curling their necks and peering, fascinated, into the space. But then Simber’s expression became pained, because he knew there was no way that he could help them.
Persuading the Cheetah
Simber came toward them and stopped at the theater doorway. Florence, Thisbe, Fifer, and Lukas and Ava gathered around to greet him. The black-eyed friends of Grimere stayed back near the dragons, cautious of the stone cheetah. They didn’t remember the time they’d seen him before, because they’d been under the Revinir’s mind control. And even though Thisbe had told them not to be afraid, it was hard to convince themselves of that once they saw the winged beast.
Florence ushered Simber out, closed the doors with a heavy thud, then loosened one corner of the paper border. The 3-D door flattened immediately. Florence pulled down the rest of it, rolled it up, secured it, and slipped it into her quiver on top of the mage robe that Sky had brought back from the secret hallway.
