“Rrright. I knew that’s what you meant.”

“Heh. Anyway, we’ll need to fix your tail and your tooth and those scratches on your chin.”

“Florrrence can do it. Or Aarrron.” He hesitated. “Was everrrything all rrright with him?”

Fifer nodded. “They’re all okay. And… yeah. So… this robe and I seem to be okay with everyone in our group… I think.” She looked at him expectantly.

Simber let out a soft growl that was almost a purr, and Fifer knew that meant he was happy. They looked up as Carina approached. She congratulated Fifer. “I just spoke to Florence. She’s figured out it’s you.”

“Thank you,” said Fifer. “I’m starting to realize how difficult it will be to reunite Artimé after… everything. But I want to get it right.” She cringed as the voice in her head reprimanded her again, and she glanced at Florence. The warrior trainer was directing the dragons to keep the dissenters contained, as if nothing had happened. “Florence has them under control.”

“Yes,” said Carina. “She told me to tell you to come see her when you have a moment. Also, Ol’ Tater is at it again. Do you want me to send Sean over there to put him to sleep?”

“I’ll take care of him,” said Fifer, glancing at the beast, who was harmlessly splashing at the shore for the time being, thanks to one of the dragons swatting him with his tail when he strayed too close to people. “And then I’ll talk to Florence.” It felt official—Florence, the great warrior, was summoning the new head mage to discuss the next steps. Even though Fifer had led a team before, this was different and strange and monumental, because Florence hadn’t been there. And this time it was permanent.

“Did Kitten make it out all rrright?” Simber asked Carina.

Carina nodded. “She and Fox have been reunited. Everyone on our team is tending to the injured.”

“Simber,” said Fifer, “could you check with Kitten and find out how many lives she has left? I believe she lost two in this battle.”

“Of courrrse.”

Fifer started toward Ol’ Tater. “I’ll be right back.” She hastily left Simber and Carina and went down to the shore. When she was close enough for the mastadon to hear her, she thanked him for his help, then, with a pang of sympathy, sang the song that would put him to sleep.

As before, Ol’ Tater’s movements ceased. Fifer went up to him and touched his side, then concentrated and transported him magically back to his spot in the Museum of Large.

Once that was taken care of, Fifer went over to Florence. A sudden feeling of inadequacy came over her, for she still had no idea what to do next, and she hoped Florence wouldn’t demand any answers quite yet. But it was clear the dissenters needed tending to—the injuries they’d sustained were significant from the shack roof dropping down on them. Fifer spotted Henry, Thatcher, Lani, Samheed, Seth, and several others moving through the corralled group with medicine from the hospital ward now, trying to make the people more comfortable.