by Lisa McMann
Dev nodded, but instead of going to the river, he went over to the slain dragon and peered up its nostril. He could see the end of Florence’s arrow way up there. Though Dev didn’t want to take any of Florence’s unused magical arrows that remained in her quiver or had been scattered about, he didn’t think she’d mind if he borrowed one that had already been shot. But that would mean he’d have to stick his arm far inside the dead dragon’s nose. The thought made him queasy, but he steeled himself for the task. “If you want to get fish, I’ll try to collect the sack of spells. I’ve got an idea.”
“Deal.” Fifer glanced worriedly at the bloody spots on Dev’s shirt. But she’d asked him multiple times if he was okay, and each time he blew off her concerns. He was going to do what he wanted to do, and Fifer would treat his new injuries tonight. They really did need those components. “Wait. What are you doing?”
“I’m going to retrieve this arrow.” He took off his shirt and tossed it on the ground.
“Oh, that is so disgusting. I’m out.” Shaking her head, Fifer went to the river.
Dev reached into the dragon’s sticky nostril up to his shoulder. He gagged once reflexively, then closed his eyes and felt around. His fingers landed on the nock end of the arrow. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and tried to get a better grip to pull it, but his arm was in as far as it could go. Wiggling the arrow loosened it, and soon Dev could feel the point give a little. He climbed up on top of the dragon’s snout to get a better angle and shoved his arm in again, until the ridge of the nostril was touching his neck. He grasped the arrow in his hand and yanked it with all his might.
With a gurgling slurp, the point of the arrow let loose from the dragon’s brain. Dev pulled the arrow out and scrambled away as gooey sludge rushed from the dragon’s nose.
Trying not to think about what he’d just done, Dev grabbed his shirt with his clean hand and took the arrow to the river. “I got it,” he said to Fifer.
Fifer choked at the stench and refused to look. “I can’t believe you did that! You know, Florence shot one arrow and missed. We could have looked for that in the yard.”
“I still plan to,” said Dev, leaning so his whole arm submerged in the water. He scrubbed vigorously. “But I figured she could use that one again, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
Fifer dared a glance at Dev. He was clever. And he was also being really thoughtful and considerate regarding all of this. How had he ever been such an annoying jerk? He’d really changed a lot since their first meeting. While he had his shirt off, Fifer peeked at his wounds. The bleeding ones seemed minor, and she rested a little more easily.
Once he and the arrow were clean, Dev put his shirt on and picked up the arrow. “If you hear any loud thumps or yelling, come rescue me,” he said with a little laugh.
Fifer smiled and adjusted the net, seeing a plump fish heading her way. “You got it.”
Dev headed for the storeroom off the courtyard, where he kept various things he’d found since he’d first arrived. On the way he practiced one of the magical spells Thisbe and Fifer had taught him in their time here—invisible hooks. Glad that he could still do it, he gathered boards and ropes and headed for the stairwell. Before going upstairs, he peered around the back of the steps. It was empty.
The foxes hadn’t returned since the dragon fight. Dev hoped they weren’t too scared to come back, but those dragons lying dead on the ground were a pretty frightening sight. He wasn’t sure what to do about them.
Dev climbed to the fifth floor, which was the top floor if you didn’t include the bulbs. It had the flat, rotted roof and ceiling that Fifer and Thisbe had fallen through when the Revinir had dropped them. Dev knew the floor was rotted too. Both girls had broken through that as well. So he had to be very careful to stay at the edges of the room, where the joists were the sturdiest.
He eyed the length of rope that hung temptingly from the hole in the center of the roof. Then he placed two magical invisible hooks on the wall at about knee height and rested one of the boards across them, securing it to make a step. He placed two more and secured another board higher up the wall, and then did it a third time. After adding more hooks above the top step and placing Florence’s arrow across them to use as a handhold, he climbed up carrying the longest rope he had. Then he aimed for a spot at the wood ceiling about halfway between him and the hole, where the creeping rot didn’t appear to have reached yet. He placed a couple of hooks in that area, then took the long rope and made a loop in one end. He hung on to the arrow with one hand and, with the other, began to throw the rope like a lasso at the ceiling in an attempt to catch one of the hooks.
After several tries, while Dev held on to the other end, the loop caught and hung there.
He let out a breath. Not being able to see the hooks was unnerving. The rope appeared to be hanging suspended from nothing. And if the hook didn’t hold, Dev would go crashing down through multiple floors like Thisbe and Fifer had done.
Standing on the top step, Dev tied a loop in the other end of the rope. He’d thought about wearing it around his chest to keep his arms free but knew that the rope could rip up the burns on his back, and that sounded awful. So he stuck one arm through it.
After a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, Dev let go of Florence’s arrow and grabbed the rope tightly with both hands. He jumped, emitting a frightened shriek as he dropped. Then he swung wide out over the gaping hole in the floor and sailed up toward the hole in the ceiling. As he neared it, he reached out precariously for the rope. His fingers brushed it, but he couldn’t quite get it before the momentum switched. He began to spin slowly in the air as he swung back down and approached the makeshift wall steps. Trying to right himself, he kicked wildly and managed to push off the wall and build up speed. This time, when he neared Florence’s rope, he was just barely able to snatch the end of it. He pulled the sack through the ceiling, and it swung behind him. “Yes,” he whispered.
When Dev neared the wall a second time, he jumped and grabbed for Florence’s arrow and the makeshift ladder. His fingers connected, but he fumbled and couldn’t hang on. With a wild yell he landed unceremoniously in a pile on the floor as the sack of spells slipped down the center hole. “Ack! No!” Dev lunged for the sack’s rope and got it just in time. The floor creaked and groaned beneath him.
He lay on his stomach, heaving, still gripping the end of Florence’s rope. Then he slid backward across the floor as one might do when stuck on thin ice, trying to reach the shore. After a short distance Dev hit a soft patch. The floor began to groan and crack beneath him, and his body sank a few inches. Panicked, he quickly spread his arms and legs. He stayed as still as possible, praying he wouldn’t break through. After a long moment, he began moving again, sliding a little at a time. Eventually he reached his makeshift ladder. With a breath of relief, Dev held on to a hook and pulled himself to a sitting position. Slowly he reeled in the sack of supplies.
Triumphant, Dev tied the supply sack around his hips. He released the hooks on the ceiling and retrieved the rope that hung from them, then unhooked Florence’s arrow and disassembled the ladder. As evening shadows fell over the palace, Dev carried his supplies carefully, staying along the edge of the floor, and made it to safety.
Fifer came flying up the steps holding a flopping fish. “Dev!” she cried. “Are you all right?”
Dev met her in the stairwell and gave her a quizzical look. “I’m fine,” he said, setting the boards and arrow down and holding out the bag of supplies. “Why?”
Fifer’s lips parted, and she nearly dropped the fish. “I… I heard you yell. I thought something terrible had happened… again. I’m glad you’re okay.” She went over to him and hesitated, then embraced him, the fish somehow getting caught up between them.
Surprised by the move, Dev stood stiffly for an instant, then slid the fish out from between them and hugged her gently in return. “Nothing terrible happened,” he said softly. He closed his eyes and let his che
ek rest against her hair, steeling himself for when she pulled away.
Ghostly Fog
Rohan and Maiven hid in the folds of Quince’s foggy shape. The ghost dragon appeared the same as always to them because they had black eyes, but they knew he was activating his hiding feature, which made him look to others like a thick spray of fog drifting through the air. As long as Rohan and Maiven stayed flat on the cloudlike back of the dragon and Quince kept his hiding feature activated, only black-eyed people could detect that anyone was there at all.
They rounded the castle and discovered Drock sticking close to the back side of it, as if trying to get a look through the vast windows and balcony doors that lined the exterior of the guest-room wing. Quince floated over to Drock undetected. The dark purple dragon didn’t notice anything unusual until Rohan lifted his head.
“Drock,” Rohan whispered. “It’s Rohan. Maiven and Quince are here with me. Do you have any information? What’s happening?”
Drock seemed momentarily puzzled that he couldn’t see Quince at all but remembered what Maiven had told him in the cavelands and accepted the explanation. “That balcony, just there, leads to the ballroom, where the Revinir spends most of her time. Sometimes Thisbe goes out on the balcony with the Revinir. And I’ve finally figured out that Thisbe stays in this room over here. She has a private balcony too, but I haven’t seen her use it yet.”
Maiven sat up. She knew the castle well. “That was my dressing room long ago. Have you overheard anything?”
Drock glanced around to make sure none of the mind-controlled dragons were noticing him. “I have,” he said grimly. “They’ve been making plans.”
Rohan cringed. “What do you mean? What kind of plans?”
“Plans to announce their partnership,” said Drock. “I’m… I’m so sorry. For you and for all of us.”
Maiven seemed skeptical. “But they can’t officially take over just by announcing that,” she said.
“I know,” said Drock. “But I also overheard the Revinir say something about how the other black-eyed people will be coming soon. I think she must know she needs them to vote for a leader.”
“Maybe Thisbe is planning to convince us to vote her into the position of leadership,” said Maiven. She winced. She still had a hard time believing her beloved granddaughter had taken such a sharp turn like this. But the evidence was growing that Thisbe wasn’t as innocent as everyone had thought her to be. Perhaps her time in the catacombs had taken a much deeper toll on her psyche than anyone had realized.
Rohan stared out toward the castle, wishing only to have a glance at Thisbe. He’d be able to tell from her eyes if she was truly with the Revinir. All signs pointed to it, but there was still a part of him that believed something else was factoring into this equation. He wondered if Seth had been onto something when he’d guessed that Fifer and Thisbe were plotting together. It still didn’t make sense, though.
“I need to keep moving,” Drock said as other dragons got a bit too close for comfort. “Sometimes the two of them come out on the balcony at this time of night.” The queen and Rohan ducked back down as Drock continued on his aimless flight.
“Let’s float closer,” Rohan directed Quince.
“Closer to what?” asked the ghost dragon, who seemed to have forgotten his purpose for the moment.
“To the castle,” Rohan said.
“And… where is that?” asked the ghost dragon.
“It’s that building,” said Rohan, trying to be patient. “Go toward that big balcony.”
Quince spied the area and flew toward it.
“Nice and slow,” Rohan said. “Remember, we’re being stealthy.”
“Oh,” said Quince. “I’m glad you told me.”
Rohan and Maiven exchanged a worried glance. As they drew close to the ballroom balcony, the doors swung open. The Revinir ducked her head and stepped out. Right behind her was Thisbe.
“Don’t speak to them!” Rohan said in a harsh whisper to Quince. He was worried about everything now that they were within earshot of the two. He looked at Maiven. “Stay low,” he reminded her.
“You too,” she whispered.
Rohan lifted his head an inch, trying to catch the slightest glimpse of Thisbe without being seen.
“My, the fog is thick tonight,” said the Revinir. “You know the old saying? A change in the weather brings plans together.”
Thisbe didn’t smile. She’d seen Quince immediately. Her face went gray as she realized the Revinir couldn’t see him, and she deduced that Quince was floating outside in stealth mode. Was he alone? She couldn’t see anyone else just yet in the darkness. “I think you just made that up,” she said.
Rohan’s eyes widened to hear her speak like that.
The Revinir cackled uproariously, and Thisbe flashed an uneasy smile. Quince had to be here to eavesdrop, and Thisbe had to give him proof to take back with him. “Our plans will come together as soon as you agree to my stipulations,” she said. “I’m ready to proceed. I want to be your partner! But you’re standing in your own way.”
“Your demands are unreasonable,” the Revinir purred.
“Everything about you is unreasonable,” Thisbe retorted.
“But that’s why you like me,” the Revinir shot back. “You do like me now, don’t you? I can feel it—a bit of admiration, no?”
“Oh,” said Thisbe, jamming her fists into her pants pockets, “oh, yes. Your intuition is strong—it always has been.” Thisbe abruptly turned. “Let’s go back inside. This… fog… is making my hair frizzy.”
Rohan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Thisbe was complimenting the Revinir. The two had laughed like friends. Rohan knew that Thisbe was a good actor. But was she this good? And for what purpose? He was more confused than ever. And now she was leaving the balcony. Obviously she must have seen Quince since she had black eyes too. But was she trying to keep away from him? Rohan lifted his head another inch, and then another.
The Revinir didn’t seem pleased about going in, and she stayed in place, blocking the doorway so Thisbe couldn’t get in either. Thisbe looked annoyed and nervous. She glanced at Quince and narrowed her eyes.
The ghost dragon stared back, surprised, because this was the friend of the ghost dragons—they answered to her call. Didn’t she recognize him? Or couldn’t she see him in stealth mode? In his confusion, Quince’s body slowly materialized from the fog, revealing two human shapes on his back in the process. One of them slipped out of sight, but the other lifted his head. Light from the ballroom revealed Rohan’s face.
Thisbe caught sight of him and gasped. The Revinir turned to look and gasped too. “That patch of fog—it was a ghost dragon in disguise? And Rohan! What is the meaning of this?”
Maiven, who had slid to the far side of Quince, stayed hidden under the base of his wing. But Rohan was caught. He ducked down and muttered under his breath. He hadn’t realized Quince had returned to his normal form.
The Revinir snarled. “Rohan!” she said again. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Thisbe didn’t know what to do except stay in character. “Get him!” she cried. “The little sneak!”
The Revinir lunged over the railing and took flight. Before Quince could change course, she reached and grabbed Rohan by his shoulders and his rucksack.
“Augh!” Rohan cried. He squirmed and whispered, “Don’t wait for me!” to Quince and Maiven over his shoulder. The Revinir yanked the young man over the balcony railing and into the ballroom. She dropped him to his feet and shoved him to the floor, spitting bits of fire everywhere in her anger.
Thisbe’s heart split into a thousand pieces. Why did he have to do this? But she kept her face from showing any emotion. She steeled herself, then followed the Revinir and Rohan into the ballroom. Then she stared down at the person who completed her soul in every way.
He saw her. “Thisbe,” he pleaded, shielding himself from the sparks and trying to crawl over to her. “What are you do
ing?”
Thisbe didn’t answer. She averted her gaze, looking instead at the Revinir, who seemed to be watching Thisbe very carefully to see what she would do. “Amateur,” she said lightly to the dragon-woman, and laughed. “He’s harmless enough, isn’t he? More good than evil, you always said. What shall we do with him? Kick him out of here? I can’t imagine he’ll come back. Will you, Rohan?”
“I highly doubt it,” Rohan muttered.
The Revinir’s concern melted from her face, and she laughed too. “We should at least offer him some tea before we decide. And,” she added in a darker voice, “find out what he knows about the locations and activities of the others. Keep an eye on him.”
The Revinir called for hot water and went to the sideboard. She rummaged around in a cupboard, setting up tea for three.
Thisbe was hardly able to function. She stood frozen. She couldn’t look at Rohan.
He could have made a run for it. But Rohan stayed on the floor. “Thisbe,” he whispered.
Thisbe’s bones melted. But somehow she remained strong.
“Thisbe,” he whispered again. “You’re breaking my heart, pria.”
Thisbe felt a moan about to burst from her chest. But she stopped it with the fire in her throat. “Don’t speak to me,” she snapped, a bit harsher than she’d intended. But she had to show the Revinir that she was annoyed by his presence.
Rohan’s mouth slacked. He could only stare.
The Revinir brought the tray of tea to the table and commanded Thisbe and Rohan to join her. The two did as they were told.
