by Lisa McMann
“That seems like a good route to investigate,” said Maiven.
“But they’re so forgetful—they may not remember anything. Maybe you and I could meet with them to find out. They might remember you.”
“I’d like that,” said Maiven. “But how do we get them to meet with us?”
“We might have to go in search of them.” Thisbe tapped her lips thoughtfully. “The last time they came to help, Gorgrun told me that I called to them somehow. But I don’t know how I did it.”
“Really?” asked Maiven. “Gorgrun said you called to them? That’s fascinating. I wonder how you did it too, and if you can figure out how to do it again. I worry about traveling there. We’d be in danger of being seen on the road.”
“There’s a dragon path through the forest that will take us most of the way—at least that’s what Fifer told me.”
“If it’s a dragon path,” said Maiven, “the dragons will know about it. That seems a rather embarrassing way to be captured, don’t you agree?”
Thisbe grinned, feeling wonderfully at ease with her newfound grandmother despite the seriousness of the situation. “That’s a good point. No wonder you were commander of the military.”
“I earned my stripes the hard way,” Maiven said mirthfully. “No more dragon paths for this queen.”
“Maybe we’d think more clearly after some sleep.” Thisbe looked around the living room and saw that everyone else had found cots or blankets and a place to lay them out on the floor. Rohan lifted his head and waved good night sleepily.
Thisbe waved back. Then she cringed, thinking about how Dev should be here too, safe and sound with all of them. “I’m worried about Dev.”
“I am too,” said Maiven. “But I know him from my time in the dungeon. He’ll survive this. He’s resourceful. And when we have the means to get him back, we will. Patience is also something I’ve learned the hard way.”
Thisbe gazed at her grandmother, feeling better. “Thanks.”
Maiven squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “I have some blankets for you,” she said. “Let’s get some sleep and worry about Dev and the ghost dragons tomorrow.”
Thisbe nodded. “Oh! By the way, I sent for help from Artimé. So we’ll have lots of magical people here in just a few days.”
“We’ll need them,” said Maiven. “I’m so grateful for the generosity of your people. They’ve done so many things for me and our people already. That young man, Thatcher, is a fine person. Do you know he told me he’d come back for me, and he did.”
Thisbe smiled. “Sounds like Thatcher.”
Maiven walked around the perimeter of the room checking the windows, making sure they were locked and the drapes fully pulled shut.
Thisbe washed up and went to bed. But tired as she was, she couldn’t get to sleep. She just stared at the ceiling, thinking about Dev and getting a stomachache imagining what must have happened. She pictured him alone in the dungeon or locked in his crypt . . . or worse.
Dev might never forgive her. And he might never do another decent thing again after this. If he survived.
Thisbe hadn’t yet gotten a response from the seek spell she’d sent to Florence. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for it to go all the way to Artimé, and then for Florence to send one in response to signal they were coming. Perhaps Florence wanted to be ready and on the way before sending it—they hadn’t thought to discuss that, but now it seemed crucial to know.
Idly Thisbe wondered how they’d travel. Simber would fly, of course, but the rest of them could take a ship and have Simber ferry them across the gorge. Or they could go on Spike’s back. Or perhaps they’d take the faster route through the Island of Fire volcano. That seemed like an easier way for Florence to get to Grimere, if she was planning on coming. Thisbe hoped she was—Florence would be great against the Revinir, she thought sleepily. If Florence took a ship, she wouldn’t be able to be flown across the gorge—she was too heavy for Simber to carry.
Thisbe closed her eyes and turned to her side. Hopefully, Florence and Fifer and Aaron would have come up with a solution to eliminate the Revinir by now. That would leave Thisbe free to figure out how they were going to save Dev.
She drifted off.
• • •
In the morning when Thisbe woke up, a strange, small orb glowed in the air above her face. It wasn’t a seek spell—it was much more compact, and it hadn’t exploded into a picture of anything. Thisbe blinked hard and wiped the sleep from her eyes, making sure it wasn’t a dream. She slid out from under the orb, not quite daring to reach out to touch it. It swung lightly through the air, staying an arm’s length away at about chin level. Sitting up, Thisbe studied it. Could Florence and the others have improved the seek spell? Or was this not from them? Was it a trick? Had the Revinir somehow tracked her down?
Feeling relatively certain that the Revinir had no means to do this type of magic, Thisbe reached out tentatively with one finger and touched the spot of light.
Instead of exploding like a seek spell, it melted and slid into Thisbe’s hand. The light faded, and a brilliant white piece of folded paper remained on her palm, with a thin pencil beside it. Thisbe opened the note, a small smile blooming on her face. Florence had indeed figured out how to improve the seek spell while Thisbe had been away. And she’d sent an actual message!
But her smile faded as she read the words.
Dear Thisbe,
Artimé is in a civil war. I’m so sorry—we aren’t able to help you right now. But if you and Drock can return to help us . . . we could really use it.
Your friend,
Florence
PS Use the pencil to reply. The verbal component is “send.”
A New Direction
While the other future rulers of Grimere got up to start their day of weapons training, Thisbe sat on her cot and stared at the paper in her hand, trying to comprehend the words from Florence. Artimé was in a civil war? How could that be possible? What did it mean? And Florence had done something Thisbe had never imagined could be possible. It was unthinkable. She had denied Thisbe’s request for help. With a sinking heart, Thisbe knew things had to be terrible there for that to be the case.
Granted, Thisbe hadn’t sent a double seek spell, which would have indicated she was in grave danger and needed help immediately. Perhaps if she’d done that, Florence wouldn’t have said no. And it was true that Thisbe was relatively safe at the moment, hidden in this house. So there wasn’t a huge sense of urgency. It was just that Thisbe had been counting on her friends to help her in Grimere. Even if they hadn’t been excited about going back so soon, like Thisbe had been, they all wanted to see the Revinir destroyed, and they had a much better chance at succeeding if they worked together.
She tried to push back the hurt feelings, even though this felt a little bit like she was being abandoned again. She tried not to think about how Fifer and Seth had been more interested in staying in Artimé than in coming back here. And she tried not to be mad at Aaron, even though the whole civil war thing probably had to do with him being—or not being—the head mage.
Once she got over the initial shock of Florence’s note, Thisbe felt ashamed about her earlier feelings. Then concern for the safety of her family and friends grew in its place. This had to be a very serious situation for Florence to decide no one could come to Thisbe’s aid. They needed everyone. Including her. That Florence would even ask for Thisbe to return when she knew how precarious things were in Grimere was shocking.
“Oh dear,” whispered Thisbe, picturing a war-torn magical world, family against family, friend against friend. Artimé was the last place anyone expected to be engulfed in war. What was happening?
Thisbe read the note again and hesitated when she got to the part where Florence said they could really use her help right now. That was so unlike Florence—they must be in dire straits for Florence to ask Thisbe for help. Thisbe was just a kid! Though it was true that Thisbe was one of the most powerful mages in
Artimé. Especially now that she could control her magic and use Artimé’s creative magic too. And she was getting more skilled every day.
But Thisbe couldn’t leave here. Maiven needed her! And they had training to do. Plus there was no way to get home, unless Drock was somehow not under the Revinir’s influence and she could actually find him. And of course the Revinir would definitely find out if they left—would that cause even more trouble for Artimé in the long run? What would stop her from chasing after Thisbe again? Going back to Artimé just didn’t seem possible without causing even more problems.
Thisbe read the note a third time. While the request didn’t sound frantic, Florence was deadly serious, even though Florence had no idea what challenges Thisbe was facing at the moment. For all Florence knew, Thisbe could be back in the dungeon, and any false move could cause a series of disastrous events.
And what about Fifer and Seth and her other friends? Had anyone been hurt? Was Aaron okay? He was the one that the horrible Frieda Stubbs was after. Had she done something to him? Killed him? Was Florence just trying to get Thisbe to come home because she really needed to tell her that she’d lost someone else in her life?
The dilemma was so large it was painful. Thisbe dropped her head into her hands, conflicted.
Rohan popped into the room where Thisbe sat. “We’re getting some sword training now. I know you’ve had it in Artimé, but you’re welcome to—” He stopped when he saw that she didn’t lift her gaze. “Is everything okay?”
Thisbe shook her head and held the paper out to him. “Apparently they improved the seek spell, and Florence replied to mine with this note.”
Rohan came and knelt next to her and read it. “Oh dear,” he said when he finished. He turned it over and back and read it again. “That’s a blow, isn’t it.”
“A huge blow,” said Thisbe.
“I guess I didn’t realize until now how much I was counting on them coming to help us here.”
Thisbe nodded. “Me too. I just assumed they’d come when I called them. I mean, I knew they had some sticky things to work out, but Artimé doesn’t have civil wars! Artimé is the most wonderful place. It sounds like things just went completely bonkers.”
Rohan glanced sidelong at Thisbe and chewed his bottom lip, consternated. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She got up, still holding the tiny pencil that had come with the paper, and took the note back from Rohan. “I should probably reply, but I don’t quite know what to say. I’m so disappointed, but I’m also scared for them. All my friends, my family . . .” She shook her head in frustration. “But I have friends and family here, too! I feel like I’m being torn in half. And I can’t just leave after what happened with Dev. I did that to him.”
Rohan didn’t argue, even though he didn’t think Dev’s situation was all Thisbe’s fault. Dev had his own will, his own mind, and he’d walked out on his own accord. “Whatever you decide to do, I support you. And you know we’ll be glad to help you prepare if you decide to go. We can try to track down Drock. . . .”
Thisbe pocketed the items and pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know about Drock. When I saw him the other day, I was pretty sure he wasn’t with us anymore. And I’m afraid what could happen if we went out looking for him—the dragons must have been ordered to look for us by now. If Drock is being controlled, he could attack us. And even if Drock isn’t under the Revinir’s control, I’m sure she’ll send a fleet of dragons after us if she finds out Drock and I tried to leave.”
“It’s Drock’s absence that would clue her in, though, not yours. She knows where he is. But she doesn’t know where you are. If you feel like you need to go, you could take the volcano network like before.”
Thisbe thought about that for a moment. “I think Florence was really hoping for some help from a dragon, though. I’m not enough of a help to make much difference alone.”
“Interesting. A dragon would end fights in a hurry, wouldn’t it?” mused Rohan. He reached out and gave Thisbe a quick hug. “Why don’t you get some breakfast and keep thinking. I’ll be in the weapons room with the others.”
Thisbe nodded. Rohan left, and she went to the kitchen and prepared a meal, thinking deeply about what to do. She wanted to ask Florence for more details, but she wasn’t sure how much room she had on the paper or how many words she could send. Was anybody dead? Or hurt? What did a civil war look like, exactly? Was the mansion still standing? Whose side was everybody on?
The more she imagined the scene, the more she felt like she should go. Maybe there was a way for Drock to sneak away without the Revinir noticing. Or . . . what about the ghost dragons? Perhaps they could at least get Thisbe across the gorge and help her find Spike, who could take her to Artimé. If only she could get the ghost dragons to come.
“What a disaster,” Thisbe said under her breath. In her mind, the images that had plagued her in the past now seemed like part of her, and the scenes randomly flashed at the edges of her sight. One was of ghost dragons flying and marching together over the market square. When she’d first seen it, that scene had been a vision of the future, Thisbe realized now. Something that hadn’t happened yet, as opposed to the other images that told part of a story from long ago. Someday maybe she’d be able to tell the difference between past and future. And maybe understand the premonitions, too.
As she ate, the images of ghost dragons flipped through her mind. Could Gorgrun and Quince help her? And would they? It would be a long, dangerous, and potentially fruitless walk to find them in the cavelands. If only she knew what she’d done before to call to them.
She pulled out the message from Florence and studied it, then held her pencil poised to respond. But she didn’t write anything. She still didn’t know what to say. Should she stay or should she go? With a sigh, she slid the items back into her pocket and cleaned up her dishes, then went to find the others and learn more about sword fighting. Perhaps she’d have a chance to teach them a few things too.
A Surprise Visitor
Later, Thisbe and Maiven met again, this time to talk about what was happening in Artimé. Maiven offered Thisbe support in her decision, whatever it was, but agreed that trying to find Drock right now would only serve to antagonize the Revinir and send her chasing after them again. They also agreed that the only viable option to get Thisbe across the gorge, if she decided to go, was if a ghost dragon would take her. But the length of the journey to find them was daunting.
“It’ll take two days on foot at least,” said Maiven. “And dragons will be searching everywhere for any sign of you. Perhaps . . . I should go.”
“You?” said Thisbe, alarmed. But the old woman who’d seemed so frail after years in the dungeon had regained her strength. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.
“No one knows who I am,” the former queen pointed out. “They don’t remember me. They think I’m dead. Only some of the dragons might recognize my scent, but if they’re under the Revinir’s control, I doubt they’d do something to an old woman, whether they recognize my scent or not. They’re supposed to be looking for young people. I’ll glide right under their noses.”
“But who will train us while you’re gone?”
“I was hoping you’d teach everyone some magic at some point to see if anyone in our group has untapped natural abilities we can nurture. After all, you had something in you—though you might have gotten that from your father’s side of the family. But Rohan said you taught him your seek spell, so that may mean there is hope for the others.”
Thisbe considered that. It would definitely make her feel better about leaving them if she could teach them a few basics. Things that didn’t require components, like invisible hooks and the glass spell, could possibly come in handy. “That’s a great idea,” said Thisbe. “And worth a try, at least.”
“I’ll leave after dark, then, unless you tell me otherwise.”
• • •
They practiced hard all day. Maiven
would teach them a move, then, while the future rulers practiced it, she’d go to her ancient books to try to uncover anything that would help them figure out how to take down the Revinir. Then she’d teach another move and go back to her books. Thisbe was glad for the refresher course, as she’d been so focused on magical-warrior training when she’d been home the last time that she hadn’t practiced sword fighting at all. She was feeling it too—sore muscles everywhere.
Seeing Maiven puzzle over the books without gleaning any answers was the deciding factor for Thisbe. Perhaps Aaron and Fifer and Florence and the others had made more progress in Artimé. At the very least, Thisbe knew Florence had been working on the obliterate spell, and hopefully this trip home would at least afford her the chance to pick up one of those before coming back.
Because she was definitely coming back. Part of her couldn’t imagine Artimé’s civil war lasting more than a few days before one side or the other sheepishly surrendered or everyone came to their senses. While the people of Artimé knew how to fight and had done it often, they’d never turned on each other before. And they’d always gone reluctantly into battle, only as a last resort. What in the world had happened there to make things go this far off track? Maybe it wasn’t as bad as Thisbe had first imagined it to be. After all, Florence only said they could use some help. She didn’t beg or demand. Though that wasn’t Florence’s way of doing things either.
They broke for the evening meal, and then Maiven went to pack a light bag and get ready for her journey to the cavelands. As night fell without a moon in sight, Thisbe and the others checked the window locks and drew the curtains tightly shut. But when Maiven reappeared, looking ready to go, Prindi let out a scream from the back window.
Rohan turned quickly and gasped. “They’ve found us! Hide!”
Pressed up against the glass was the horrifying face of a dragon.
Teaming Up
The other future rulers ran and dove for cover behind pieces of furniture, screaming. Thisbe grabbed heart attack components and peered out through the drapes of the front window to see if they were surrounded, while Rohan barred the door—not that any of it would do any good against a dragon.
