by Lisa McMann
“I’m sorry you’re sad.”
“I miss him.” Samheed shrugged and smiled. “I miss a lot of people. What can I do for you?”
“Oh—I just need a costume.”
“For tonight?”
“Yeah. I’ll just get a cape or something.”
Samheed frowned. “I thought you of all people would have been planning something very special.”
“Yeah,” said Thisbe with a sigh. “That’s what Fifer thought too.” She was starting to regret that she hadn’t prepared for this. “But I’ve had a lot of other things to do. I’m getting ready to go back to the land of the dragons.”
Samheed nodded solemnly. “Florence told me. She’s worried about you. Aaron knows you’re planning this, right?”
“Well . . . I mean, I’m not keeping it a secret or anything.”
“Fair enough. You’re thirteen now.”
Thisbe nodded. All of a sudden she felt older.
“So, tonight,” Samheed prompted. “If you had all the time in the world, what would you go as?”
Thisbe explained that she didn’t even really want to go, but she felt like she had to—it was her birthday celebration, after all. And absolutely everyone would be there, with gifts and cake and Fox and Kitten leading the lounge band. So as tempting as it was to stay in her room, she knew she couldn’t get away with it. “I don’t have anything in mind at all.” She peered at the book. “What’s the sad part?”
“You mean in this?” Samheed held it up.
“Yes. Is there a girl in there like me? I’m sad.”
“Are you?” asked Samheed, peering at her with concern. Then his expression softened. “Yes, I imagine you are. You have several things to be sad about.” He didn’t press her on what exactly she meant at that moment, and he didn’t share his own sadness for fear of diminishing hers. Instead, he went on to tell her that the play was a tragic love story about two young lovers named Romeo and Juliet. “Their families are fighting,” he said. “And they aren’t allowed to be together.”
Even though the situation wasn’t the same, Thisbe’s thoughts turned immediately to Rohan and how they weren’t able to be together either. Then she blushed furiously. “Is that the sad part?”
“It’s one of them. But the tragic bit is that Juliet fakes her death by taking sleeping medicine. Romeo finds her and thinks she’s dead, so he takes poison and actually dies.”
“That’s terrible!” said Thisbe.
“Yes. But it. Gets. Worse.”
“Tell me!” Thisbe begged. This kind of play was right up her alley.
“Juliet wakes up, finds Romeo dead, and then takes his dagger and—”
“No!” cried Thisbe, clutching her shirt. Her eyes were wild. “Does she—?” She mimicked thrusting a dagger into her chest.
“Yes!” said Samheed, delighted that Thisbe was so enthralled by the story.
“That’s sooo gory,” murmured Thisbe. “I love it!”
Samheed regarded her for a long moment, tapping his lips. “Then I think I know exactly which character you should dress up as, in order to express your reluctance to celebrate in this terrible time, but also show the people of Artimé that you are a true actor.”
Thisbe nodded. She knew too. In the echoing auditorium, the two spoke solemnly in one voice. “Dead Juliet.”
A Wistful Moment
Samheed and Thisbe worked up a simple costume: mask, dress, dagger, fake blood. Then Thisbe borrowed the book and hid out in a tree on the lawn to read the Romeo and Juliet play. The tree had a small reclining bough that was somehow magically soft to curl up in. It felt strange to be sitting in such comfort and not having to be constantly doing something, like collecting firewood or fishing for her next meal. Or saving people from burning castles. Or fighting with Fifer. It was nice, Thisbe supposed. For a while.
But she couldn’t help thinking about Rohan and Maiven Taveer and the work they were probably trying to do . . . alone. It made her more determined than ever to get back and help them. And Thisbe knew that she alone couldn’t possibly be enough.
It was great that Ibrahim and Clementi were willing to help—they’d be priceless to have around. But Thisbe needed . . . and wanted . . . her sister’s help. And Seth’s, too. And whoever else would come with her. Maybe after this stupid ball was over, Fifer and Seth would come to their senses and help her prepare. She had so much to do it was almost overwhelming. The biggest obstacle to overcome was creating spells that would be strong enough to work against the Revinir and her army of dragons. Thisbe still had no idea what would work. Maybe a dagger spell—Florence had mentioned briefly that there already was one of these, but nobody seemed to use it or have the component for it anymore. She’d have to ask Florence about it again, and any other old spells that they didn’t think were as important as others.
Thisbe finished reading the play, finding it strangely satisfying in its tragic ending, because it left hope for reconciliation among those who remained alive. These same themes matched her mood today. She sat for a moment longer in her hiding place and then realized with a start that the sun was going down and the lounge band was beginning to set up their stage on the lawn. Fifer would probably be frantically looking for Thisbe, wondering why she wasn’t getting ready. It was almost like this party belonged solely to Fifer or something.
Thisbe slipped into her room as Fifer was flouncing about in front of Desdemona, their room’s blackboard. Fifer wore a long crimson gown and a tall but delicate jeweled crown, like a princess. She held a long stick that had a mask attached to it, so she could put it against her face without worrying about a string getting stuck or tangled in her crown.
“There you are!” exclaimed Fifer, swatting her sister with the mask. “You’d better not ruin this for me.”
“You look amazing,” Thisbe said, ignoring the threat. And what she said was true. Fifer looked like a real princess. There were no real princesses anywhere in their world to compare Fifer to, but Kaylee had told them many stories about princesses in her world. And over the years they’d read as many books about princesses as they’d been able to find in the two libraries in Artimé. And they’d known Shanti, of course, who wasn’t hard to improve upon.
“Thank you,” said Fifer, thawing a bit. “That . . . means a lot.” Then her expression grew concerned. “You’re going, right? You’ve got something to wear?”
“Yes,” Thisbe assured her. “I’m getting my costume on now.”
“What is it?” Fifer asked. “Who are you going as?”
“You’ll see. I’ll meet you down there.” Thisbe went into the bedroom and closed the door.
Fifer seemed torn between wanting to make sure Thisbe wasn’t being sneaky and wanting to make her grand entrance right when the ball was beginning. She heard doors opening and closing in the hallway. Fifer opened their door a crack and peered out as a few others left their rooms in costume and headed to the exit. Fifer hesitated, then opened the door wide and went out into the hallway. “I have to meet Seth,” she called to Thisbe. “I’ll see you on the lawn. Soon?”
“Yes!” Thisbe shouted back. She opened the bedroom door a few inches and put her face in the opening. “And . . . happy birthday.”
Fifer smiled warmly, and for a moment the two felt like friends again. “You too. I thought this day would never come.”
“Same for me.” Thisbe didn’t add that she wished it would just end already so she could get back to the important stuff. She closed the bedroom door, and Fifer was off.
Thirty minutes later, Thisbe emerged to an empty hallway wearing the dead-Juliet costume: a medium-blue dress with a trick dagger attached to her chest, handle sticking outward so it appeared that she’d been stabbed. She’d spread a big stain of fake blood on her dress around the dagger, which had been quite satisfying to create, though it had left a garish mess that she’d have to clean up later in the bathroom. She slipped a sparkling blue mask over her eyes as she clomped down the hallway in her usual w
ork boots—because if she was going to be stuck wearing a dress, at least her feet would be comfortable.
“It’s a protest,” Thisbe reminded herself, lifting her chin. Though now that she was almost at the party, she was sort of looking forward to it. She had a cool costume. And a break for one day wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She tried not to think of Maiven and Rohan and Dev and all the other black-eyed slaves and innocent dragons under the Revinir’s spell, being treated horribly. But guilt leaked in. “It’s just a few hours,” she told herself firmly. She descended the staircase to the main floor of the mansion, where Florence, Talon, and Simber stood near the main entrance. As in previous years, Florence wore a Simber mask, and Simber wore a Florence mask. Talon was dressed as a bronze giant, as usual. Music drifted in through the open door.
“Which of you is which?” Thisbe asked Florence and Simber, which was a tired old joke, but it had to be said.
Simber growled playfully, but Florence lifted her mask in alarm to study the girl. After a moment, she smiled. “Brilliant costume,” she said. “It looks real. Are you supposed to be someone in particular?”
“Thank you,” said Thisbe. “Yes. I’m dead Juliet.” She quickly explained the play. “I’m protesting the idea of the ball. This is my way to make a statement without ruining it for everybody.”
“Interesting tactic,” said Florence, a smile playing at her lips.
“I’m going out therrre with you,” Simber said with a rare rumble of laughter. “I want to see Fiferrr when she gets a glimpse of this.”
“I’m quite excited to see her reaction myself,” Thisbe said with a grin. “Shall we, Florence? I mean Simber?”
The cat rolled his eyes beneath his Florence mask. “We shall.”
The two exited the mansion while Florence and Talon went to the window to watch from there. A moment later, Fifer let out a bloodcurdling scream. And then all of the windows in the mansion exploded, sending broken glass raining down, inside and out.
Masquerade Emergency
Look out!” Aaron cried from behind the lounge band’s stage on Artimé’s lawn. Instinctively, upon hearing his sister’s scream, he knew it would cause problems. And Aaron didn’t need any more problems in Artimé right now.
By the time Fifer clapped her hands over her mouth, it was far too late to stop the windows from shattering. Thisbe’s eyes went wild behind her mask as she and Seth dove for cover. Shards of glass rained down on the crowd of partiers, striking the ones closest to the mansion and sparing the rest.
Screams and shouts went up. Henry and Carina threw off their masks and, when the glass stopped flying, ran to help those who’d been struck and were bleeding from cuts. Aaron yelled for everyone to stay calm, but his voice was lost in the din.
Inside the mansion pieces of glass slammed into Florence and Talon, who’d been standing at the window. Stunned and scratched but unhurt, Florence jumped through the opening to the lawn to help, her stone feet crunching on glass. She began lifting the ones who were most injured through the window and handing them to Talon, who ran to put them on a bed in the hospital ward. Soon others were flooding into the mansion through the door, blood flowing from their wounds, making the tile floor slick. Henry and Carina and the nurses brought more patients into the ward and began assessing them.
Back outside, Fifer ran over to Thisbe and Seth. “Are you hurt?” she cried. Then she looked around at all the people who were cut and bleeding. “Oh, crud. I’m so sorry, everyone! It was an accident!” As Thisbe and Seth got up and insisted they were fine, Fifer’s flock of birds flew in from the treetops, responding to the unintentional call and causing even more chaos with the Artiméans. The brand-new class of Unwanteds, recently sent to Artimé by their uncreative parents in Quill—a tradition that had changed slightly over the years but refused to die—weren’t used to seeing the birds either. Thisbe cringed right along with the others and covered her head. She still didn’t like them.
“Why didn’t you warn me you were going to be dressed like that?” Fifer said angrily to Thisbe. Her princess crown was tipping to one side, and she had a small cut on one arm. “Look what you made me do.”
“I thought you would have learned how to control your shrieks by now,” Thisbe said, immediately becoming just as angry for the rash accusation. “What else were you doing during the time I was a slave in the catacombs?” Spit flew from her mouth when she emphasized the last phrase. “I worked sixteen hours a day and still found time to learn to control my destructive abilities.” She hesitated. “Though I’m feeling an urge to let them fly at you right about now.”
“Stop.” Seth stepped between the girls. “That won’t solve anything. Just . . . both of you, knock it off.”
Thisbe and Fifer looked at Seth in surprise. It wasn’t like him to be so assertive.
Seth’s face was grim as he stared beyond them to the streams of people heading into the mansion. “Look past yourselves for once,” he muttered.
Behind the bleeding masses was another all-too-familiar group descending on Aaron, hollering about how he should have prevented this. There were worse things happening than whatever the twins were arguing about.
Samheed and Lani were nearby, unhurt. They rushed over to Aaron and Kaylee to find out what the dissenters were yelling about. Thisbe, Fifer, and Seth moved to the outskirts of the gathering to listen in. They’d seen smaller altercations, but this was the first time they’d witnessed such a large group coming at Aaron. It was alarming.
Frieda Stubbs got in Aaron’s face. “A good head mage would at least try to control his dangerous sisters, like Alex would have done!”
“Yikes,” muttered Thisbe.
“Oh no,” moaned Fifer.
Kaylee stepped in angrily and went after Frieda. “Alex wasn’t able to control them either,” she retorted. “Amazingly, they are not controlled by anyone but themselves—imagine that. Besides, it was an accident that not even Alex could have prevented.”
Frieda sneered at Kaylee, then continued to yell at Aaron. “At least Alex took after your father—he was a good man. And you tried to have him killed! You and your sisters are exactly like your horrible pirate mother. You might not look like her, as your sisters do, but your heart is cold and evil like hers.”
“What nonsense is this?” Kaylee elbowed forward, and Frieda immediately threw a punch at her. Kaylee dodged it.
“Hey!” shouted Lani, getting between them as Aaron, carrying Daniel, stepped back to shield the boy. Samheed stared from one party to the other as if he wasn’t sure what to do. Then he went to stand and protect Aaron as other dissenters edged toward the mage.
Fifer and Thisbe looked at each other. “What?” whispered Fifer.
Thisbe shrugged, wide-eyed. Something felt very strange about what Frieda had said.
“Frieda,” said Aaron, trying to be patient, “what are you saying? What do you think you know about my parents?”
But Frieda clamped her mouth shut and circled Kaylee and Aaron, fists raised.
The twins didn’t know what to think. They’d never heard anyone beside their brothers speak of their parents as if they knew them. Abruptly Fifer started toward the shouting match. “I’m going to find out what she’s talking about.”
Thisbe grabbed her arm. “Fifer, no! Have you lost your mind? Everyone’s mad at you right now! And Frieda’s looking for a fight!”
“These people are more mad at Aaron than me,” Fifer told her. “They hate him because of all the stuff he did before we were born. They can’t get over it, and they think Aaron shouldn’t be head mage.”
Seth nodded. “We missed a lot of the drama while we were gone, but Sean filled in me and Fifer the other day when you were training.”
“Aaron told me some of it,” said Thisbe. “But what was all that bluster about our parents? Our pirate mother? That’s . . . that’s just crazy.” She frowned. “Isn’t it?”
“She’s probably just making stuff up to get Aaron mad. You can l
et go of me.” Fifer yanked her arm from Thisbe’s grasp.
Thisbe raised her hands in defense. “All right. Sorry. Do what you want. I’m . . . I’m going inside to help Henry.” Troubled, she turned away.
Just then Crow came running up. “Thisbe, are you okay?” He seemed confused by the fake blood on her dress and the fact that a dagger stuck out from her chest. He hadn’t seen anything other than glass fall from the windows. “You’re covered in blood!”
“This is my costume,” Thisbe said. “I’m not hurt.”
“Oh,” said Crow, relieved. “That’s good.” Scarlet came up behind him with a cut on her cheek and a small splotch of blood staining her white-blond hair. The two appeared otherwise unharmed. “Henry is desperate for help inside. Are you coming?”
“Yes, I was just on my way there.” Thisbe started toward the door.
Fifer glanced over her shoulder at Kaylee and Aaron and the group of angry dissenters. Then she looked at Seth. “Maybe I’ll stay and help Aaron. It seems like he needs it.”
Seth shrugged. “Kaylee can handle Frieda Stubbs. And it’s not the worst idea for you to be seen helping the injured—after all, you caused this.”
Fifer cringed. She didn’t need that reminder. “Right. Let’s go help Henry.” They followed Crow and Scarlet into the mansion and went to the chaotic hospital ward. The place was overflowing.
“Does anybody know how to make this room bigger?” Henry called out as they went in. “Alex always used to do it.”
“I’ll get Lani,” shouted someone near the door. “She’ll probably know how.”
Soon Lani was there to cast the spell that made the hospital ward much larger. Beds fell from the walls and supply stations dropped from the ceilings. Talon, who seemed uncharacteristically winded, helped the waiting injured go inside. Carina began to direct the worst of them to the new beds.
