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.”