by Lisa McMann
They slipped behind Ms. Octavia’s desk and peered around it—Thisbe in front, Fifer looking over her shoulder. Thisbe was close enough to witness everything Alex was doing. She watched, enthralled, as her brother ran his hand skillfully, lovingly, over the enormous wings. Alex and Ms. Octavia had designed them, Aaron had built their frames with jungle vines, and then they’d all covered the frames in cloth. On top of that they’d layered flower petals thickly in rows and dotted the wings with actual dragon scales that Alex had collected from Hux earlier.
The wings didn’t look real. Not yet.
Alex inspected both wings carefully, looking for any part of the construction that might weaken them. When he was satisfied that they’d been perfectly put together, he double-checked the measurements and compared them to the diagram that Ms. Octavia had sketched. He took a moment to admire her work, and a twinge of jealousy passed through him—that had been his job in the past. Then he reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small pencil, and began working some figures on the paper in the horrendous scrawl of a child.
In the back of his mind, he thought about the terrible twist of fate that had landed him here. All his life Alex had been wildly, predominantly left-handed, until that final fight with Queen Eagala. She’d ruined his arm with her sword, and in return he’d given her a death sentence by sending her ship hurtling into the underwater volcano of the Island of Fire. It had felt like a win for him at the time. But in the years since then, facing his disability, Alex wasn’t so sure. And while he’d made attempts at writing, drawing, and performing magic right-handed, he’d been vastly disappointed with the results. Over time he realized that his best days had come . . . and gone. The highlight of his career as head mage had happened in his teenage years, and life had rolled downhill from there.
He often tortured himself by thinking back to the time shortly before the final battle when he’d actually sketched a dragon that had lifted off the page in 3-D—something no artist in Artimé had ever done before. Not even Ms. Octavia. Now he knew that that had been his creative shining moment—the height of his artistic ability. At age seventeen, his art was cruelly, permanently snatched away from him. Now his right-handed drawings looked worse than those of Aaron. Absolutely terrible. And Alex’s accuracy casting thrown spells with his right hand was less than 50 percent. It was unacceptable. And mortifying for the leader of the magical world.
After the final battle, he’d spent hours every day holed up in his living quarters, trying to improve that nondominant throw. Trying to draw simple things. But the more he’d tried, the more he’d failed, and the more defeated he’d become. Until one day he finally admitted it to himself, and to Sky: He’d never, ever be the same again.
Without his art, he felt like he’d lost his identity. With the loss of his magical abilities, he felt like it was only a matter of time before he’d have to give up his role as head mage. Granted, he could do the job well enough when they were at peace. And peace was wonderful. He didn’t want any part of another years-long war. He was older and wiser now. Artimé and Quill got along for the most part. The seven islands remained allies—well, all except for the Island of Graves, but the saber-toothed gorillas that inhabited it kept to themselves. Life was as easy as it could be under the circumstances.
Alex had his young sisters under his care. While they’d ended up giving him a lot more worries than average children might have, he loved them very much. And he was willing to sacrifice almost anything to keep Artimé calm for their sakes, so they wouldn’t have to face all the pain and loss he had faced at their age. They’d already lost their parents—they wouldn’t lose their brothers, too. Not if he could help it. Even if it meant the young dragons’ lives would remain at stake. “I wish I could do more,” he muttered as he finished measuring. “But this is all I have to offer. At least I can do this much.”
Thisbe and Fifer exchanged a silent glance from their hiding place. Little phrases from earlier kept coming to Thisbe’s mind. Why can’t you do something good . . . ? No one else can do the magic. A hint of an idea began to form.
Then Alex breathed in suddenly, deeply, and blew the air out. “Enough of that.” He took a few more cleansing breaths, and then rested his right hand on one of the wings. He closed his eyes and concentrated for several moments, imagining the wing taking flight. He pictured it sparkling in the sun, flowing with ease, and as light and free as the petals that adorned it. He focused, letting the images fill him. And finally he spoke a single word. “Live.”
The wing began to move.
Alex did the same to the other wing. Thisbe watched, enthralled. Fifer kept an eye on the ostrich and plotted their escape. When both wings were moving successfully on the tabletop, Alex smiled grimly. And then he went back to the first wing, placed his hand on it, and began singing the most ridiculous song Thisbe and Fifer had ever heard.
Had Alex gone mad?
But no—when the silly song was finished, the wing ceased to be alive. Alex did the same to the second wing, putting it “to sleep” as well.
When both wings were still, Alex turned out the light, then walked past the hidden girls and out of the room.
Long after he was gone, Thisbe and Fifer remained behind Ms. Octavia’s desk, discussing what they’d seen. And then Thisbe pressed her lips together. “Fifer?” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“Do you remember when Alex was yelling at us, and he said he wished we could do good things with our magic instead of only bad?”
“Yeah,” Fifer said miserably. And then, slowly, her eyes widened. She looked at Thisbe solemnly. “Do you mean . . . ?”
“I—I don’t know. What do you think about it?”
“It seems like it might be pretty difficult.”
“Yeah.” Thisbe dropped her gaze.
Fifer thought hard. “But maybe . . . maybe this would make up for what happened with Panther.”
Thisbe let out a breath. “I think . . . maybe . . . it would.”
“And then he’ll let us take Magical Warrior Training and we’ll get our component vests!” Fifer’s heart surged. She reached out and squeezed her sister’s arm. “Let’s do it. Okay? I’m in.”
Thisbe looked up. “Really?” A thrill fluttered in her chest. “We can’t let Alex catch us.”
“We’ll set out at midnight, after he’s gone to bed.”
Thisbe nodded. “And Seth?”
“He’ll come too.”
Thisbe was quiet for a moment as doubts crept in. She knew they’d have to fly on the dragon’s back. But how high? She cringed, angry with herself that this was the thing that scared her the most. “Are you sure we can do it?”
Fifer laughed out loud, startling the ostrich. She made a face, then leaned forward, her mind made up. “Of course we can. Haven’t you heard? We’re the most naturally talented mages Artimé has ever seen. We’ll fix all the wings and be back before Alex even knows we’re gone.”
Sneaking Off
The moon was high in the night sky when Thisbe propped herself up on one elbow and peeked under the curtain. The outline of the two dragons filled the lagoon. She turned to her twin across the room. “Are you sure, Fifer?” she whispered. “Alex will be so mad if he finds out.”
Fifer’s eyes shone in the darkness. “He’ll get over it once he hears about the good stuff we’ve done.” She climbed out of her bed and slipped on some clothes. “I wish we had our component vests now,” she grumbled, but then her face brightened. “We’ll have them soon enough, though.”
Thisbe fell back onto her pillow and rested there a moment, then hoisted herself to the floor and started getting dressed. “What about Seth?”
“We’ll send him a seek spell.”
“You know how to do that one?”
“How hard can it be? Kitten did it once and she can’t even say the right word.”
“Don’t you need something Seth created in order to do it?”
Fifer patted her pocket. “I’ve go
t that scene he gave me—the one that he wrote in Samheed’s class. That should do the trick.” She hopped onto Thisbe’s bed and drew the curtains aside. Then she put her hand on the glass windowpane, concentrated, and whispered, “Release.” The windowpane disappeared. Fifer looked over her shoulder. “Ready with the rope?”
Thisbe frowned, then reached behind the wardrobe and grabbed a rope. “Can’t we just go the normal way?” she asked. Even though she’d climbed down the side of the mansion a dozen times or more, her stomach flipped at the thought of it.
“You mean so Desdemona sees us and reports us to Alex’s blackboard? I don’t think so.” A blackboard was like a magical host in the living area of each apartment. Each personality delivered messages, kept an eye on the residents, offered help, guidance, and sometimes attitude, and some even shared gossip from the other blackboards. “Plus,” Fifer went on, “we’d have to walk right past Simber.”
Fifer had a point. Whenever the girls found themselves in odd predicaments, their blackboard, Desdemona, was a major tattletale—Alex had demanded she report any hint of the twins’ shenanigans to him as a condition of their living on their own in the girls’ hallway. And there was no way Simber would keep a secret from the head mage of Artimé.
“Not the back door either?” Thisbe pleaded.
“The chefs will see us. Come on, Thiz,” Fifer said impatiently. She glanced at her sister and turned sympathetic. “Look, I know you’re scared. But you have to do it. It’s the only way.”
Thisbe sighed. “All right, fine. Catch me if I fall?”
“I’ll turn you into a bird so you can soar to the ground,” promised Fifer.
“Ugh. No thanks. Can’t you just catch me?”
“Sure,” said Fifer, growing impatient again. “Just hurry up.”
Thisbe tossed the coiled rope to Fifer, who, balancing on the sill, attached one end of it to an invisible hook outside the window, which one of the girls had installed years before for the first of many escapes.
As Thisbe put on her boots and tied them, Fifer slipped out and rappelled down the side of the mansion. Thisbe reached for her backpack and, not knowing how long they’d be gone, quickly stuffed it with their canteens and a few snacks they had in the bedroom. She climbed onto the bed and peered out the window at the ground below. With a grimace she grabbed the rope, took a breath, and swung out, hanging suspended above the ground from a dizzying height. She found her footing against the mansion wall and began descending. A few feet down, she stopped, and with a shaky hand, cast a new glass spell in the opening.
Once on the lawn, Thisbe breathed a sigh of relief. Now that the scary part was over, she grew excited for their adventure. Muttering a spell under her breath, she released the hook’s hold on the rope so it landed in a heap at her feet, then coiled it up and put it in her backpack.
Nearby, Fifer was concentrating on the bit of script that Seth had given her. She held it pinched between her fingers, and when she felt ready, whispered, “Seek.” A startling flash of light exploded from the paper and shot up to the second level of the mansion and in through a window, leaving a softly glowing line behind it. The girls waited breathlessly as the line began to fade, hoping Seth was sleeping lightly enough that he would notice the spell before it was gone.
Finally their best friend appeared at the glass. The girls waved frantically and jumped up and down, and after a moment Seth saw them. He waved back, then disappeared. A few minutes later he exited the back door of the mansion and closed it softly behind him. He was wearing his new component vest, its pockets bulging. Fifer smiled approvingly.
“What’s this all about?” he whispered. “How’d you do that seek spell?”
“Never mind that,” said Thisbe. “Did anybody see you?”
“Just the night chefs. They don’t pay much attention to me.”
“Let’s hope not.” Fifer scowled. “We need to move before Simber finds out what we’re doing out here. Come on.” She took off running across the lawn, toward the jungle. Thisbe and Seth jogged behind.
“Where are we going?” whispered Seth.
Thisbe glanced sidelong at him, her backpack jouncing on her back. She flashed a mischievous grin. “We’re going to rescue the young dragons.”
The Adventure Begins
First we need vines,” Thisbe said softly. Now that her fear of climbing out the window was a distant memory, her boldness returned, and she headed into the dark jungle. “Lots of ’em.”
“What for?” asked Seth, following her. He smoothed his component vest absently as he tromped over the uneven ground. His vest was the one thing he had that the girls didn’t have. And he knew they wanted one, especially Fifer. It gave him a little bit of confidence, which was a feeling he wasn’t particularly accustomed to having around the twins.
“For the wings,” said Fifer, bringing up the rear. “Like Aaron brought yesterday.” She began grabbing at the nearest vines and yanking them down. “Come on.”
Seth grabbed a vine and tugged at it until it came loose, then threw it over his shoulders. He reached for another.
“These aren’t as thick as the ones Aaron brought,” said Fifer.
“They’ll have to do,” said Thisbe. “We don’t have time to be picky.”
They gathered as many long vines as they could carry, and then Fifer led the way to the lagoon. It was hard to be silent with the vines dragging over the jungle floor behind them, and they startled some platyprots along the way, but the colorful parrots with platypus-like bills, feet, and tails only ruffled their feathers and settled again.
Pan saw them coming. Very little happened in the seven islands without her knowledge. “You are Alex’s sisters,” she said in greeting.
“Yes,” said Thisbe and Fifer together. Fifer added, “And this is Seth Holiday.”
“Carina’s young?” said the dragon. She looked down her broad snout at him, the whites of her eyes reflecting the moonlight.
Seth nodded and took a step back. He was more than a bit awestruck by the creatures.
“Did Alex send you?”
Fifer began to answer truthfully, but Thisbe spoke faster and louder. “Yes,” she said. “We can help you with . . . with whatever you need.” She clamped her mouth shut.
Fifer and Seth remained silent. Their hearts raced as Pan stared into Thisbe’s eyes for a long moment. Thisbe refrained from the urge to shrink into a tiny ball, and she tried desperately not to flinch.
“You are very small,” said Pan.
The three children stared ahead, and at first they didn’t know how to respond to that observation. Then Thisbe said, “We are also the best mages in Artimé.”
Hux snorted fire and eyed Thisbe. He swung his head around to sniff her. She trembled but held her ground.
“This one killed the captain of the pirates,” said Hux. “I remember the story. She was only a baby.”
Thisbe grimaced. “That’s right.”
Seth started to point out that she was actually two years old, not a baby, but then thought the better of it and stayed quiet.
Pan lifted her head. “I remember as well. And the other female eliminated the raven spell.” She gave her first indication of approval and backed off, allowing Thisbe a second to breathe and wipe away the nervous sweat that beaded on her forehead.
Hux swung his head around to face Seth. “What have you done?” he asked with a growl.
Seth stumbled backward. “I—I—nothing much, I suppose,” he said, his voice pitching higher with each word. He’d never done anything noteworthy—not like Fifer and Thisbe. He could feel the heat from the dragon’s breath and waited for fire to burst forth and burn him to a crisp.
“We need him to carry the vines,” said Fifer.
“Yes, carry the vines,” echoed Thisbe. She promptly pulled the vines from her shoulders and plopped them onto Seth’s. Fifer did the same, until Seth staggered under them.
His shoulders began to ache. “I can do magic too,” he said, a
little grumpily. Did the girls really mean that? Was that the reason they wanted him along—to hold their junk?
“Yes, he can,” said Thisbe. “He keeps track of the spell components, as well. He’s . . . very handy.”
Hux frowned but moved his face away, to Seth’s great relief. “I’m not sure I can carry all of you,” the dragon said. “Has Alex created my new wings?”
Fifer and Thisbe glanced at each other, trying not to reveal their panic. They’d forgotten about that. There was no way for the girls to get the huge wings out of Ms. Octavia’s classroom without being detected. And even though Seth could go in and out of the mansion at all hours more freely and invisibly than the girls could, he would certainly look suspicious carrying the wings outside. Even the night chefs wouldn’t overlook that. They’d have to leave without the new wings, and quickly. Every minute they stood out here was a minute they could get discovered.
“We’ll make your wings as soon as we get to your land,” said Fifer. “But aren’t you in a hurry to get there? I’m so worried about Arabis. What if the Revinir changes his mind, or thinks you aren’t coming and decides to kill her?”
Hux’s face clouded. “Of course I’m worried. It’s all I can think about.”
“Then we mustn’t waste any more time,” said Thisbe. “You’re really strong. I believe you can carry us easily. And like Pan said, we’re very small.”
Pan nodded at her son. “You can swim the distance until you must fly. That will save your wings.”
Thisbe found herself nodding profusely. “Excellent idea,” she said under her breath.
“How far away is the land of the dragons?” asked Seth.
“I cannot say,” said Hux. “It is against the dragon code. But you’ll learn the answer soon enough.” He eyed the three children, sizing them up to determine if he could take them on his back while flying with too-small wings, then looked at his mother. “I believe I can do it,” he said.
