“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.