The Revinir ordered Drock to take flight and join the other dragons that circled, and Drock obeyed again, to Thisbe’s relief. But what next? Would the Revinir be satisfied now that she had the two rogue ones? Would she turn back to Grimere? Or did she want to fight Artimé anyway?

The dragon-woman seemed to be thinking about that exact thing. As she and the dragons circled above the sea, and the black-eyed slaves sat as still as possible on their backs, Thisbe squeezed her eyes shut tight and prayed to whoever might listen. Take us away from Artimé. Go back to Grimere.

After the Revinir gazed long and hard toward Artimé, which was a visible little lump now that the sky was growing lighter, she turned her head to look closely at Thisbe, a suspicious expression on her face. Thisbe stared straight ahead, continuing to make her eyes as glassy as she could.

“What made you finally heed my call?” the Revinir asked accusingly. “Why didn’t you come before?”

Thisbe stared, her mind whirring. What should she say? What would appease the woman? Did she suspect that Thisbe and Drock were playing her? Thisbe’s heart pounded. Her hands grew clammy, and her throat became dry. Her mind was blank. Her answer would likely determine what the Revinir would do next, so it had to be a good one. She knew the Revinir. Knew that the woman was not only greedy, but she loved herself more than anything or anyone.

Thisbe cleared her throat. Then she said in a voice that sounded strange in her ears, “You finally became strong enough. I can no longer resist. And . . . I no longer want to. I am one with you.”

The Revinir regarded the girl for a long moment, a smile creeping along one half of her dragonlike face. “You are my lucky one,” the woman murmured. “You’re my secret weapon. And you’re worth ten times more than any other of these that stand with you. Together, Thisbe, we will conquer the world.”

“Yes, Revinir,” said Thisbe.

“But there is one more black-eyed child I must have. I’m sure you understand. And you will help me, won’t you?”

Thisbe’s lungs froze. She knew the Revinir must be talking about Rohan, though he, like her, hardly seemed like a child anymore, after everything they’d been through. Her throat felt like it had a big, sticky lump in it. “Yes,” she said, as firmly and as loudly as she could.

“Good. We must have your sister with us. Where is she?”