“She’s… also family,” Aaron pointed out.

Fifer frowned. “She doesn’t really feel like family to me. Not yet, anyway. I’m keeping her on the panel. She’ll have valuable advice.” She tapped her lips, feeling a bit better now that things were falling into place. “So it’s me, Lani and Samheed, Maiven Taveer, one or both of the dragons… and Aaron as a spy hiding out in here? Maybe Seth and Carina and Claire can sub in if someone needs a break.”

“And Simberrr,” came an unmistakable growl from across the mansion. Of course Simber was listening in. With his acute hearing, when was he ever not listening?

“Yes, Simber,” Fifer called. “Of course.” She stood up, indicating the meeting was adjourned. “We’ll set up in the entryway. Gorgrun and Quince can gather outside the front door and poke their heads in.” She let out a deep breath. “I’m beyond ready to bring normalcy back to Artimé.”

Then she accidentally caught Thisbe’s eye. Maybe not that ready, she thought.

Second Chances

When the sun spilled color at the edge of the sky, Dev choked and coughed and threw up all over himself. His body was numb from the cold, and he just wanted to sleep. But he’d been cold before, back when he’d occasionally been locked out of the castle at night. So he knew that sleep was the worst thing he could do. He groaned and steeled himself, then pushed up on one elbow and promptly wretched again. The pain in his ribs cut through the numbness.

Mustering strength, he looked around, even though his head felt like it weighed as much as a full kettle of broth from the catacombs. With relief he discovered there were no dragons around. No Revinir. He wasn’t sure what had happened or how he’d escaped them. Perhaps the gods of mercy had been on his side again. First Drock catching him. Now this. It made him wonder if he was meant to live.

He also wondered if the Revinir’s distance from the edge of the river had distracted the red dragon enough to allow Dev to float by unnoticed in the dark. Why had she stayed so far from the water? In Dev’s experience, dragons spent plenty of time in the water, because it was their main source of sustenance.

Whatever the case, Dev was alive. And smelly. Very smelly. And now his throat hurt from vomiting. But he was conscious, and not captured, and very, very cold. His teeth chattered. His face felt puffy, and his hands were wrinkled like an old person’s. He was sopping wet. And he knew he needed to find shelter and get dry before he froze to death.

With another deep groan he pushed himself to his feet, feeling terribly unsteady. “Where am I?” he whispered. The effort of talking made his throat sting even more. He stumbled on the bank and slipped to one knee, but caught himself and took in his surroundings as the sky grew brighter. The river was flowing downstream to his left. That meant the palace was somewhere on the other side of it. He’d have to cross.