“Something was stirring a moment ago,” said one of the red dragons in a monotone voice. “I don’t see it now. It went off toward the orchard.”

“Probably those foxes, like the last time we were scoping things out,” said the Revinir. “Or some other animal. Deer, perhaps.”

“Probably.” Drool dripped from the hungry red dragon’s mouth, but he fell silent, and the moment was forgotten.

The Revinir glanced down at the twins hanging from her grip and noticed they looked half-dead. She didn’t want them to die, but other than that she didn’t have much pity in her, though she did feel a small pang somewhere deep under her scales. She remembered when she was about their age. Young Emma, plotting her revenge against her horrible siblings, Marcus and Justine.

Just who had the upper hand now? They were dead, their legacies no doubt soon to be forgotten with the passage of time. But the Revinir… Eagala… Emma… She was about to rule an entire world, and these girls were going to help her.

They circled just above the palace, and the Revinir studied the sagging, rotten roof between the four corner towers and the large center tower. “I wonder if this old roof will hold them or if it’ll give way?” she mused. “What do you think?” she asked one of her companions.

The dragon eyed it. “It doesn’t seem sturdy.”

“Good. You four, take your positions,” she called out to the dragons, and four of the six swooped down to land on the ground, one in each corner of the vast property.

“Don’t kill the black-eyed ones, but don’t let them get away, either,” said the Revinir, circling again above the roof with the remaining two dragons. And then she let go, dropping the unconscious girls onto the rotting palace roof.

Feeling It

Thisbe and Fifer hit the roof hard and plunged through it. They struck the top floor of the castle and kept going through that one too. The next floor down was a bit stronger and stopped Fifer, while Thisbe hit a weak spot and went through one more and stopped there.

The impact woke them both, but by the time they stopped moving, they wished to be unconscious again. It took several minutes of groaning and crying out before they realized where the other one was.

“Are you okay?” Thisbe called up to Fifer. “I think my ankle is broken.”

“My entire back is on fire,” said Fifer, “and my left wrist is twice its normal size and turning purple. I can’t move it. Is that bad?”

“I’d say so,” said Thisbe. She had abrasions and cuts everywhere, and her clothes were torn. Luckily, the soft rotten wood had broken their falls, or they’d be much worse off.