“I didn’t mean it like that,” Thisbe said, then started laughing hopelessly again. “You’re awful. I was talking as an actor. I’m playing a role here.” A shadow crossed her face as she found herself questioning, Am I, though? She frowned and shoved the thought aside. Of course she was. But once again the niggling doubt was there on the edge of her mind. If she was more evil than good, would joining the Revinir and diving headfirst into this role, body and soul, unleash something inside Thisbe that she couldn’t control?

“You’ll sneak away at night,” Fifer suggested. “Say you knew I wouldn’t come and you didn’t want me there anyway, being all judgmental about things.”

Thisbe glanced sidelong at Fifer. “Tell the truth, you mean?” The snickers started up again, but this time they reined them in. “Yeah,” Thisbe continued, “I think that’s the best angle. And I can’t come across too strong or she’ll be suspicious. But I’ll want to surprise her with some sort of changed demeanor, because that will throw her off. Maybe I go there not quite having made the decision to join her, but revealing how obvious it is that she needs me, which would make me quite confident. And so I’d ask for something first before I say I’m willing to join her.”

“Yes,” said Dev, looking up. “Ask for something big and be willing to settle for something less. Negotiate a bit.”

“Like maybe tell her that if you join her as she wishes, she must agree to leave the seven islands alone. Well, I mean, she can have the Island of Graves.”

“Heh,” said Thisbe, scribbling things down. “I like it, I like it.” Then she wrote, Too confident to negotiate? Play it out.

“At the very least, perhaps the Revinir will agree not to bother Artimé,” Fifer said, with hope in her voice. “I’d really like to not have to worry about our island for a bit.”

“I won’t give too much away,” Thisbe murmured, feeling the beginnings of her character forming. “She wants this partnership badly. And we have a lot of friends on other islands to protect.”

“True,” said Fifer. “Use your instincts.”

“And then once we strike a deal, you call in Florence.”

“How will we know when it’s time?” asked Fifer. “I feel like sooner rather than too late is best.”

“I’ll do a send spell to you with all the details.”

Fifer’s stomach twisted as she imagined Thisbe in the castle with the Revinir, trying to activate a send spell without seeming suspicious. “That seems awfully risky. What if she sees it? Or if someone else does?”

“Hmm…” Thisbe thought about that. “I don’t know. I mean, I won’t send one if it’s not perfectly safe.”