by Lisa McMann
Tears pricked Fifer’s eyes. Thisbe didn’t seem to mind their newfound differences, while it was breaking Fifer up inside. Maybe she should try to care less too, but it was hard when she felt like she was missing out on something.
• • •
Oblivious to Fifer’s mental war and mixed feelings, Thisbe worried about Rohan, wondering if he was okay. Or even alive. Her stomach flipped and twisted painfully whenever she thought about him. She felt helpless. Surely he’d use his seek spell if he needed her. But what if he was trying to, and he just couldn’t do it? Even if he did manage to perform the spell, by the time Thisbe could get there, it would most likely be too late—and she wasn’t in any position to help him until she completed her training. These things kept her tossing and turning at night in her bed across the room from Fifer. In contrast, Fifer seemed to sleep like a log and have no cares except for planning the party. How was it possible that one twin could be so carefree when the other carried around the weight of the world?
Shortly after Thisbe had arrived safely back in Artimé, she’d looked at the gift Rohan had given her. It was a piece of paper-thin bark from a birch tree, folded in half. When Thisbe opened it, a diorama of a cave popped up from it, made from tiny sticks and curls of birch bark. Thisbe identified the all-too-familiar scene immediately. Cutouts of three people were sitting on logs inside the pop-up cave—Thisbe, Rohan, and Sky. A fire was burning, and there was a fish on a spit above it. Rohan had used berries and stones to add striking red, purple, and brown colors to it. It was beautiful, though smeared a bit. Definitely unlike any kind of art she’d ever seen in Artimé. Upon opening it and studying the intricacies within, Thisbe had begged Florence for a preserve spell component so it wouldn’t tear or get wrecked. Thisbe pulled out the diorama whenever she felt like nobody understood her. It was comforting to be reminded that there was one person who did.
• • •
Little changed as more days passed. It still felt strange to be back in Artimé. Things were different. And the wedge between the twins continued to grow.
Added to that, Thisbe didn’t like the looks from dissenters and others who kept asking about what had happened to her. They weren’t exactly unkind, but Thisbe didn’t really know these people very well. All the skeptical eyes on her made her uncomfortable. One day Frieda Stubbs stopped Thisbe coming out of the dining hall.
“Have you killed anyone lately?” asked Frieda.
“Wh-what?” Thisbe stammered. “No! Of course not.”
It was horrifying, and Thisbe couldn’t stop feeling disturbed by it. What kind of woman would say such a thing to anyone? She ran up to her room, and from that point she became more elusive, staying in her room whenever she wasn’t training. And trying to slip past people so she wouldn’t get stopped so often and have to retell things that were, frankly, horrible to have to relive.
But she had to eat, and it was lonely taking all of her meals via tube in her room. After a few days ruminating over Frieda Stubbs, Thisbe decided she didn’t want to hide from anyone, bully or not. So she abandoned that practice and reluctantly met up with her sister for lunch and dinner most days, even though Fifer seemed uncomfortable about discussing their return to the land of the dragons. It just didn’t seem important to her now that they had left that conflict behind.
Others joined them for meals. Thisbe tried to tell herself that things would be back to normal again soon. She, Fifer, Seth, Ibrahim, and Clementi often had lunch together in the mansion’s dining room. Usually Fifer and Seth dominated the conversation, which centered around their party-planning progress. Ibrahim and Clementi, who hadn’t experienced any kind of celebratory tradition, listened with the kind of awe that most new Unwanteds had in common. Despite having lived in the glorious mansion in Artimé for nearly a year, the lavishness of this world was hard to get used to after growing up in Quill.
Thisbe sat mostly silent and withdrawn, eating quickly so she could get back to her lessons with Florence. Hopefully soon she would earn her component vest, though Florence hadn’t mentioned it lately.
“What are you going to dress up as?” Seth asked Thisbe.
“What’s that?” said Thisbe, startled out of her thoughts.
“I asked what you were going to wear to the costume ball.”
“Oh,” said Thisbe. “I have no idea. I haven’t even thought about it.” She paused. “Maybe I’ll go as me.”
Fifer rolled her eyes, frustration boiling up. Thisbe wasn’t even pretending to be interested in Fifer’s party. “She’s been a bit difficult lately,” she explained to the others in a teasing voice, “being part dragon and all. You’d think such a dramatic actor like her would be more excited about costumes.”
Thisbe stared at her sister. “Fifer, seriously. Leave me alone about it.”
“There’s not much time before you’ll have to come up with something,” Fifer pointed out.
“There’s also not much time before I need to go and save our people in Grimere.”
Fifer looked away uneasily. “I just . . . I’ve been thinking about that,” she said, “and I feel like we all need a longer break from fighting for a while.”
“What. About. Dev?” Thisbe said icily.
Fifer continued to steer her gaze anywhere but at Thisbe. “I think we need a little time.”
Thisbe stabbed at her plate. “I knew it,” she muttered. “You’re totally backing out, aren’t you? You don’t care about anyone. You promised!”
“Thisbe,” Fifer said, her voice pleading now. “You’re the one who—”
“Come on, come on,” said Seth, trying to placate them. “Whenever you two fight, Seth loses.” It was true. In the past when Thisbe and Fifer couldn’t control their magic, Seth had taken a few unintended hits.
The twins sat in stony silence.
Clementi and Ibrahim exchanged a nervous glance. The two girls had rarely fought in their presence, so it was strange to witness it. Clementi spoke up hesitantly. “Thisbe, I was wondering if I could join you in your private session with Florence sometime so I could get some extra training. For when we go back.”
Thisbe shoved one last bite of food in her mouth and threw her napkin on her plate. She looked up. “Sure, I’d love that,” she said, chewing. She swallowed, and her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Today after Magical Warrior Training class.” She drained her drink, then glanced at Fifer and Seth and added in a sullen voice, “You’re all welcome to come, you know.”
Fifer’s face flushed. She picked up her conversation with Seth about the costume ball as if she hadn’t heard the invitation. Seth seemed to be really uncomfortable about it.
A shadow passed over Ibrahim’s face. “I’ll join you too, Thisbe,” he said. His angular jaw was set firm, his deep brown eyes troubled.
“Thanks,” said Thisbe. She was eager to spend more time in the company of these two new Unwanteds. They were both smart and creative and really good with magic. And they seemed steady in their support of Thisbe’s goal. Maybe they’d be her new favorite people, because Fifer and Seth definitely weren’t at the moment. She shoved her chair back and tapped her tray, making the plate and utensils fold up smaller and smaller until they disappeared with a pop. “Thanks,” Thisbe said again, feeling slightly better. “See you there.” At least she wasn’t going to have to do everything alone.
Impossible to Beat
Thisbe, Ibrahim, and Clementi spent part of each day thereafter with Florence, learning extra things like the adults in the advanced class were learning. Florence didn’t want Thisbe in the advanced class quite yet, until she’d mastered the nonfatal spells. Though that seemed odd, since Thisbe already knew more than one way to kill someone if she had to. Obviously, the girl was very talented. But Florence explained gently that she still made some of the other Artiméans nervous because of her reputation as the more dangerous and destructive of the magical twins. They were worried for their lives, though they meant no offense.
It didn’t seem to
matter what they intended—Thisbe was offended. She’d learned to control her magic, but no one here had seen it. She tried not to care too much that people in Artimé still feared her. In fact, she wished people in Grimere would take up the practice of being scared of her—that would make things easier! Instead she focused on one thing: taking down the Revinir. But how? The way to do it was completely eluding Thisbe.
One day during their private lesson, when Thisbe, Ibrahim, and Clementi were resting after a particularly strenuous workout with Florence, Thisbe brought up the topic.
“I think we need new, more powerful magic,” Thisbe said. “If none of our spells work against the Revinir, we have to come up with something that will.”
“That sounds good in theory,” said Florence. “But how will we know what will work if we can’t try it out until we’re face-to-face with her?”
“It just has to be . . . huge,” said Thisbe. “Super powerful. More powerful than anything anyone’s ever created before.”
“Spells like that are dangerous to have around,” Florence said quietly. “We had one before. It’s called obliterate.” She shared with them the story of the single component that Alex had created when trying to take out Gondoleery Rattrapp. It was a spell that had obliterated a whole vehicle in Quill and had almost reduced Matilda, one of Artimé’s dear gargoyle statues, to a pile of rubble. Not to mention that Sky had been close to where the spell landed—a few steps closer and it could have killed her. “That’s not something we want to have happen again,” said Florence. “We’ve lost enough friends and family.”
Thisbe nodded somberly. She’d read that story in one of the books Lani had written. It was a sobering thought that Alex, even as good a mage as he’d been, had been so close to making an irreversible mistake. Why, if he’d made a mistake like that, had he been so hard on Thisbe and Fifer?
“I think the dragon aspect is the biggest problem,” Clementi said. “Dragons have their own mysterious magic that we don’t really know much about, since they’re so secretive. Not to mention enormous.”
“And if all of the dragons in the surrounding worlds are under the Revinir’s spell,” added Ibrahim, “which is what it looked like to us, we’d need new spells that would work on them, too, in case they aren’t friendly to us like Pan and her kin are.”
Thisbe blew out a frustrated breath. “Look. There’s a chance I can hurt the Revinir with my fire magic if I can find a spot where her scales are thin. But I highly doubt I can totally destroy her with the magic I’ve got right now. Obviously the boom spell is powerful, and it works great on people and creatures our size. But I don’t think it will work on the Revinir now that she’s a huge half dragon. It might not affect her at all! It’s like she’s got some sort of spell-repellent ability or something. Samheed told me that none of our spells affected her, not even the triple heart attack. The components just bounced off.”
“We definitely don’t want anyone to go there until we know we can destroy her,” said Florence. “That would be foolish. You’re right that we need totally different ammunition than what we have now. But it’s going to take some time to make spells that are much stronger than what we’ve used in the past. We need things we haven’t thought to try before.” She scratched her ebony-colored head and shifted the quiver of arrows on her back. “I’m having trouble thinking of what could work on her, though. The way you describe her is frightening. I’m . . . not sure we can fight her and win. Not at this point.” She hesitated, then looked earnestly at Thisbe. “I hate that you are so determined to go, and in such a hurry. I just . . . I don’t recommend it.”
“I have to go,” said Thisbe, eyes flaring, scales standing up, and a tiny plume of smoke coming from her nostrils. It was a strange sight—the smoke only seemed to happen when Thisbe felt an especially strong sense of impending danger or urgency about the future. “So I need your help. Don’t give up on me!”
Florence studied her. “I won’t stop you,” she said grimly. “Besides, you’re of age—you can do what you want. And believe me, I’m excited about getting rid of that monster once and for all. Even if no one else will say it out loud, I know Artimé is in danger as long as she’s alive. She definitely knows where to find us if she wants to. It’s imperative that we take her out of power. Permanently this time. I just hate that you think you’re the one who’s got to do it.”
“I’m the best equipped. And the only one who is anxious to do it.”
“True.” But Florence still looked troubled. “I’m going to try to delay your trip until I feel good about it, though. And I’m nowhere near that point yet.”
“I guess that’s fair.” Somewhat reassured, Thisbe glanced at Ibrahim and Clementi. “Do you have any ideas about how to beat her?”
“Not really,” Clementi said. “But after hearing all the stories about what happened over there, and witnessing what went on here while you were gone, I think I know one thing that desperately needs to be improved in Artimé’s magical system.”
“What is it?” asked Florence.
Clementi glanced at Ibrahim. He nodded like they’d discussed this before. “We need to upgrade the seek spell,” Clementi said.
“Or build a new one,” added Ibrahim. “One that actually delivers a message, so people can understand what the other person needs. For a communication spell, it seems woefully lacking. It was really frustrating for Aaron and Henry and the others stuck here in Artimé, not knowing what to do for you.”
“I totally agree!” said Thisbe passionately. She rolled to her knees and began gesturing as she continued. “There’s got to be a better way to communicate. It would be great if the seek spell could work with a universal spell component, so we don’t have to carry all the things from everybody in our pockets. I’m not very good at that, obviously. Plus it takes up space that we need for the other spell components.”
“This idea has been high on my list as well,” said Florence. “I’ll bring it up at Advanced Warrior Training and see if we can get some people creating something more efficient.” She paused. “What else do we need? We might not have the Revinir figured out, but we can at least improve what we’ve got. Who knows—maybe we’ll come up with something new in the creative process.”
Thisbe’s mind began to churn out ideas based on all the needs she and Rohan had run into while in captivity. “Automatic lunch,” she said, remembering their severe lack of food in the catacombs. “And water—that’s even more important.”
Florence nodded.
“Something like a magic ladder would be cool,” said Ibrahim.
“I think we could do that,” said Florence. “Though we have the magic flying carpets—that can usually do the job of a ladder.”
“Not if the space is really narrow,” Clementi pointed out. “Or if we need to go straight up or down—the magic carpets don’t work like that. They can ascend and descend but need to move forward or backward at the same time.”
“Good point,” Florence said. “I’m very glad to get your fresh thoughts on this.” Sensing the young mages were just beginning, she began writing things down.
Thisbe and the other two started brainstorming more and more ideas, some of them a little extreme. But by the end of their session, Florence had a long list of things to work on with her most skilled component creators. “Just remember,” she said before she dismissed her pupils, “you only have so much room in your component vests. Too many spells might make it even harder for you to have the best mix in your arsenal. We need the exact right combination. And the number one thing that we need to figure out is how to stop the Revinir.”
The young mages still didn’t have the first clue how to do that. And despite the progress they’d made, it seemed more and more like the Revinir was unbeatable.
Finding Her Groove
Almost everyone in Artimé was planning to dress up in lavish costumes for the ball—far more than just wearing masks, like they’d done in past years. To Fifer’s great consternation, Th
isbe hadn’t put an ounce of thought into hers. Finally, after much prodding on the morning of the party, Thisbe went to the theater to look for something to wear. There she found Samheed sitting in the auditorium reading an old book under one of the stage spotlights.
“What are you reading?” Thisbe asked him.
Samheed looked up and closed the book. Like many volumes in Artimé, its pages were thick and wavy and yellowed from water damage, because most books arrived by washing ashore from some unknown place—likely coming to them through the Dragon’s Triangle like Kaylee and the grandfather scientists had.
“I just finished it,” Samheed said, holding up the tome. Absently he wiped a tear from one eye. “It’s a book of plays I found in the Museum of Large library some time ago. I’d been meaning to read it.”
“Is it sad?”
“The one I just finished is sad, but that’s not why I’m crying.”
“Then why?”
“The writing reminds me of Mr. Appleblossom, my old instructor.”
“Oh,” said Thisbe solemnly. She didn’t remember him, but everyone knew that Mr. Appleblossom had died fighting for Artimé. “How does it remind you of him?”
“Mr. Appleblossom used to speak in iambic pentameter rhyme.” He opened the book to the last page and gazed at it. “This play is written in blank verse—which is unrhymed iambic pentameter. But the rhythm is similar enough to hear his voice in my head.”
