Drock was flying off to Thisbe’s right. Though Thisbe couldn’t see him directly, he seemed to be doing all right and wasn’t making any outbursts or defying the Revinir, so that was good. Thisbe didn’t know any of these other dragons, and she wondered what would happen with them if Thisbe were able to break the Revinir’s spell. They were complacent now, but would they turn on her and attack once they regained control of their minds? Pan and Arabis and the others from their world were safe enough, but these strangers were unpredictable and frightening. This wasn’t just a quest to take the Revinir out of power. It was a quest to restore a world to its rightful ruling body. But what if the rightful ruling dragons no longer wanted to share the land with the black-eyed people? What if they just wanted to tear them to shreds or eat them for dinner?

Everything Thisbe was doing was such a big risk. And she was completely alone, except for Drock, in her attempt to stop a ruler who was more dragon than woman these days. How long could she last against those odds?

As bleak reality set in, Thisbe grew more and more anxious about her situation. She was still glad she’d done it—it had worked, and Artimé was saved. But now what?

More of the black-eyed soldiers lay down on their dragons to rest for the night. Though she wasn’t tired anymore, Thisbe lay down too, placing her head so that she could see Rohan. Perhaps, if she watched him long enough, he’d look her way. Perhaps there would be some recognition in his eyes. Perhaps all of this was just a horrible nightmare, and her dearest, deepest friend wasn’t really under the Revinir’s spell after all. Perhaps.

Darkness consumed them. Thisbe kept her eye on Rohan, though she couldn’t see him very well. When he shifted, she chanced to lift her head and peer at him through the darkness. But his eyes didn’t connect with hers.

A Bad Situation

Claire Morning arrived in Artimé, having come as soon as the Necessary asked her to. Along the way she’d learned from passersby that Artimé’s head mage, Aaron, had handed over his robe to the chief dissenter, Frieda Stubbs. It was hard to believe.

Claire found Florence and Simber on the lawn, arguing in hushed voices. Frieda Stubbs was standing in the doorway of the mansion surrounded by her new fans. A semicircle of protestors calling for Aaron’s return to power was around them.

“What’s happening?” Claire demanded, coming up to Florence and Simber.

Florence turned and saw who it was. “Oh, Claire. Thank goodness you’re here.”

“Samheed sent for me. What’s going on?”

“Frieda Stubbs has taken over as head mage, and everything is bedlam around here.”