Dragon Bones

  Fifer frowned. Is that what Alex thought? That Fifer didn’t think he was capable? She didn’t care to find out. Ignoring everyone, she whirled abruptly. Then she walked back the way she’d come, with Alex and the whole room staring after her in shock.

  River of Tears

  The next few days Thisbe threw herself into the task of dragging two bones a day. Her muscles ached, and she was sore where the harness cut into her skin, leaving her bruised and bloodied, but she didn’t let up. She knew that the faster she went, the more time she’d have in the evenings to work on her magical abilities.

  Every day she saw Rohan twice in passing—when he came up behind her on the way to the extraction laboratory and when he passed her again as he was coming back. He always offered a sympathetic smile, and at first he tried to help her, but she consistently refused. She didn’t want him to get caught, for one. But there was something else driving her refusal as well. Thisbe didn’t want help because she knew she could do it herself. Sure, it hurt. Sure, it took her longer. But she wasn’t incapable. And she didn’t want to feel like she owed anybody anything. And besides, she was growing stronger muscles all the time from it. That would help her when she took on the Revinir and the entire blue army once she was good and ready. It was like she was in training.

  Every night, after hours of concentrating on directing her magic accurately, Thisbe heard Rohan’s knocks on the back wall. He always began with three knocks and waited for Thisbe. She responded with three, or sometimes four. Then he with two, and she with two. Thisbe often made up words to match the initial three knocks. “How are you?” she imagined him saying, and she would respond with five knocks. “I am doing well.” Sometimes she imagined him saying, “I am here.” She’d respond with four knocks. “I am here too.”

  They’d always end the same way, though, with two knocks each. “Good night.” “Good night.”

  Often, after the satisfying final knocks, Thisbe would close her eyes and fall asleep imagining asking Rohan about their ritual the next day in the passageways. But the next day, she wouldn’t do it. For some reason it embarrassed her. What if he was just doing it out of boredom and thought she was making too much of it by imagining conversations to go with the knocks? What if he laughed at her? What if, out of the context of her lonely crypt, her imagining him saying “I am here” sounded as dumb as it did when she said it out loud in the passageway. It was enough to bring heat to her face. “Ridiculous,” she muttered. “Of course you’re here. Where else would you be?”

  A few days later, as Thisbe passed the steep side hallway near the testing room, she realized no one was around. She hesitated, then took the risk and went up it toward the exit so she could have a closer look at the river—and have another glance at the sky she missed so much. She peered around the corner and saw a group of soldiers standing near the rushing river, guarding the path.

  One of the soldiers saw her. “Hey!” the woman shouted, then said something else in a different language.

  “I don’t understand you,” Thisbe said falteringly.

  “I said come over here. Did you understand that?”

  “Yes.” Thisbe was surprised to be called over, and a bit suspicious, but she really wanted a closer look. She didn’t think the soldiers would do anything bad to her without the Revinir’s command, so she felt safe enough to obey. She strained against her harness, dragging the bones up the steep incline, and approached.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Thisbe said as she got closer. None of these soldiers looked familiar.

  “What are you doing up here?” asked the soldier. “This hallway isn’t on your designated path.”

  “I know.” Thisbe looked up with as much respect as she could muster as she tried to come up with a plausible reason. “I’m . . . I’m just really thirsty. So I thought maybe I could stop for a drink at the river.” She tried not to appear like she was gauging the distance across the river and looking to see what it would take to get across it. It was far, that was for sure. Too far to swim with the water moving so fast.

  The woman waved her away. “Get on with you. Drink your water in the testing room or your crypt.”

  Thisbe dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I will.” Her eye caught on a tarnished gold plaque on the rocky ground along the river’s edge. There were two words on it.

  “Aw, let her get a drink,” said one of the other soldiers, a man this time. “She’s just a pea, dragging twice her weight in bones. That isn’t fair, if you ask me. We can at least afford her some water.”

  Thisbe hesitated, strangely touched that he’d noticed her heavy load, and kept her eyes down, glad for the extra time it bought her to check things out. She focused on the plaque. It said RIVER TAVEER.

  “Watch it,” the female soldier warned her fellow guard. “Don’t be going soft.”

  “It’s only water,” muttered the man. “Forget it, then. Get on with you, kid.”

  Thisbe nodded and turned away. “Sorry.”

  “Aw, hang on,” said the woman impatiently, apparently softening herself. “Hurry up and get your drink. If you try anything, we’ll shove you in the river. Those bones will sink you in an instant.”

  “Thanks.” Thisbe quickly moved to the river’s edge as the two soldiers hovered over her. She knelt on the golden plaque and slipped her hand in the cold clear water, watching it rush over her fingers for a moment as it chased along. She closed her eyes, feeling an unidentifiable pain of longing rip through her. It made her limbs tremble, and it almost took her breath away.

  “Hurry up!” said the woman again, and shoved the toe of her boot into Thisbe’s side.

  Thisbe gasped and opened her eyes. She began scooping water to her mouth as quickly as she could, letting some of it splash on her face. She sucked it down, refreshingly cold and clean and delicious, like the water in Artimé. An unexpected sob escaped her, but the noise was covered by the roar of the river. She splashed more water on her face to cover all evidence of her sorrow. Then she rested her hand on the golden plaque, her fingertips slipping into the chiseled grooves of the letters, and another wretched sob came from out of nowhere. Thisbe’s insides were breaking, and she had no idea why.

  “That’s enough,” said the woman, not as harshly. “Let’s go.”

  Thisbe choked and sobbed as she got to her feet. Tears and water blinding her, she shuddered in her overwhelming sorrow and stumbled blindly over the dragon bones, tangling up in her harness and nearly falling. The soldiers caught her by the elbows and set her on her feet.

  “Thank you,” she choked out.

  The soldiers, not knowing what to think, quickly released her and stood back awkwardly, their expressions conflicted.

  Thisbe dried her face on her sleeve and took a deep breath, trying to get her bearings. Then she yanked the bones around so they’d properly follow her. She fled as fast as she could, hurrying away with her head down and wondering how on earth she’d be able to escape this maze with that river so ominous. Why had the soldiers even let her get a drink in the first place? And what was happening to her insides that would force those sobs out at such an inopportune moment?

  The soldiers were silent as they watched her go, their faces flickering in ways they hadn’t flickered in years under the Revinir’s rule. But Thisbe didn’t have the faintest clue.

  Breaking Down

  That evening was long and lonely. Somehow Thisbe had missed Rohan on his way back from the extraction room—he’d probably gone past while she’d been by the river sobbing like a two-year-old. She still didn’t know what had come over her. But there was a gnawing emptiness inside that wouldn’t go away and seemed to be growing larger.

  Of course she missed her sister and prayed she was alive, but she couldn’t stand to dwell on Fifer, because it made her feel helpless and hopeless. And Thisbe felt so distanced from everyone else in Artimé—where were they? Why had they left her here? She wished she could send a seek spell, but she didn’t have anything with her that was create
d by someone else—Fifer had the bit of script written by Seth. She was losing hope of ever knowing the answer. It made her feel numb all over. Perhaps that was how her body was protecting her—the numbness giving her the ability to survive and carry out her strenuous tasks. But today at the river a gaping wound had surfaced, and she hadn’t been able to tamp it down. Would the edges of it heal eventually? Would her numbness ever wear away? Or was Thisbe supposed to be grateful for it?

  She didn’t have it in her to work on her magic tonight. Instead she lay listlessly on the floor in the bone dust, eyes on the ceiling, wondering how many feet of rock stood between her and the moonlight. Wondering what would happen if she tried to break through the ceiling. Would it fall in on her? Crush her? It seemed likely. Did it matter? Thisbe’s eyes widened. Yes. Of course it mattered. She was not going to give up.

  She thought about her options of escape. Would she be better off trying to overcome the soldiers at the elevator? But she had no idea how to control it. Even if she could kill all the guards there, could she figure out quickly enough how to make it shoot upward and out of the catacombs before more soldiers came running?

  And what about Rohan?

  Thisbe blinked. She sat up. What about Rohan? And why did she even care? This escape was about her, and only her. She couldn’t worry about anyone else. Unless he could help somehow. But there was no way to really talk with him. No way to discuss a plan for any meaningful length of time. And she didn’t know if she could trust him to keep her secret. All they had were her imaginings of things said through knocks on the back wall. Not exactly reliable.

  And speaking of knocks on the back wall, there hadn’t been any tonight. Thisbe looked up at the place where she usually pounded, as if that would magically tell her why there was no sound coming from it. It felt late—late enough that Thisbe should already be asleep. But maybe time was passing more slowly than usual this evening. It was hard to tell.

  After a few more minutes, Thisbe felt sure it was much later than when Rohan usually pounded. Had something happened to him? She recalled that she’d seen him only once that day, when he’d passed her early in the morning. She got up, alarmed, and climbed up the bone hill. At the top, she picked up the dragon toe and pounded the wall three times. Then she waited, sure she’d hear a response.

  Several minutes passed, and Thisbe grew more worried. She pounded again, hearing an echo as if there were a hollow spot in the wall between them. There was no answer. Thisbe wanted to call out his name, but she was scared to do that in case anyone else might hear. Was Rohan okay?

  Maybe he was asleep—but why wouldn’t he have pounded the wall first like always? Maybe he didn’t want to be her friend anymore. But that was ridiculous. They’d had a connection—they just couldn’t be seen acting like friends.

  Maybe he was injured. What if the Revinir had done something to him today? Or . . . what if he had escaped?

  That was ridiculous too. If he’d escaped, everyone would have been talking about it, rules tossed aside.

  As the minutes passed, Thisbe grew more and more worried that Rohan had been hurt or punished. She pounded a third time, and again there was no answer.

  Thisbe swallowed hard. She slipped and slid down the mountain of bones to her door and tugged at the cracks around the opening—there was no handle on the inside of her crypt. But it was useless trying to get out. There was no way to get the door open except from the outside.

  She whirled around, sparks soaring from her eyes as her anger heightened. “If she’s done something to you . . . ,” Thisbe muttered, a warning. She didn’t know what she’d do, but the Revinir would suffer.

  Thisbe aimed her gaze at the doorjamb and began to pummel it with powerful sparks. Little chunks of the door flew every which way. But after a minute she stopped. Even if she could get out of here, she’d have to chisel her way inside Rohan’s crypt too, and the soldiers would certainly get to her long before she succeeded. Plus, they’d hear her breaking down the door now and stop her from getting anywhere.

  Slowly she turned and looked at the back wall. “Of course!” she muttered. She slapped her forehead, wondering why she hadn’t thought of this before. Then she aimed her laser eyes on the back wall and thought about the Revinir. Fiery arrows flew and landed almost exactly where she wanted and left big divots—bigger than the kind she’d been making from close range, which seemed odd. She scrambled up the bone mountain and began to pelt the wall with sparks, but they appeared to have less power and less effect than when she’d been standing farther away. She went down again and backed all the way up to the door. Then she aimed for the wall.

  Little chunks fell away, and then one particularly well-aimed shot split the rock wall and left a wide crevice over a two-foot space. “That’s the way,” Thisbe murmured. She kept summoning up her fury, pounding at the wall for several minutes until there was an indent more than a foot deep. But by then her sparks fizzled. She’d run out of energy and collapsed to the floor, exhausted. After she caught her breath, she climbed back up the bone mountain and used the dragon toe to pound inside the growing hole in the wall. A few pebbles and some dust gave way, but nothing more than that. She’d have to continue tomorrow when her strength returned and her magic recharged.

  She piled a bunch of already-extracted bones in front of the hole so the crypt keeper wouldn’t see what she’d done and slid wearily back down to her sleeping spot for the night. Worn out, she slept hard and woke up with a start when Mangrel opened the door in the morning. He gave her some water, pointed out the two bones she was to deliver that day, and left the door standing open as usual.

  Thisbe took longer to get ready this morning. She stood and watched out the doorway as some of the other children walked past, but her back-wall friend wasn’t among them. “Rohan—where is he? Do you know?” she’d whisper to the others, hoping they’d recognize his name, but they all shook their heads. The last one to go by was the girl who Thisbe had tried talking to early on. Her eyes widened in response. She whispered something in the common language, then brought her fingers to her neck and sliced the air across it.

  “What?” cried Thisbe, loud enough to make one of the soldiers at the nearest intersection turn to give her a warning look. She lowered her voice. “What did you say? What does that mean? Is he . . . dead?”

  But the girl, frightened by the soldiers, didn’t reply. She hurried on.

  Thisbe stared after her, more confused than ever. With a heavy heart, she set out.

  A Shocking Revelation

  Thisbe’s late start left her straining to pull her load faster to make up time. Her mind was plagued with thoughts and worries about what could have happened to Rohan. She imagined all sorts of things: Rohan being taken away forever. Or maybe he was still in his crypt, ill or injured or something? He couldn’t possibly be dead. Or could he? Somehow, without him here, Thisbe became even more determined to figure out how she was going to get out of here and plot her escape. And to do that, she needed to be extra diligent and work on her magic even more. She was getting better and gaining control—she could tell that much. She wished she had more variety in her abilities, but her inner magic seemed to be very focused on destruction using sparks and explosions. That didn’t give her a lot of options.

  As she dragged her bones through the catacombs, she planned her day. She would move as quickly as she could, and then as soon as the crypt keeper brought her dinner, she’d gulp it down and start working. One thing she wanted to accomplish was to be able to do her magic without having to work herself into an angry lather first. And she wanted to find out even more about what she was capable of—what was the scope of her power? Just how big an explosion could she create? She also needed her spells to be automatic, well placed, and lethal. It was the only way she might be able to get out of here.

  Last night she’d figured out that the closer she was to her target, the weaker the effect of the spell, which seemed odd, but it was true. Being farther away made the spell
more powerful and more accurate. She was limited by the size of her crypt in testing that out and didn’t know if there was an optimal distance—she knew that there had to be some point where she was too far away from a target to hit it, right? But with no space to test it, it might be a while before she could find that out. Perhaps if she reached a long stretch of passageway in the catacombs where there weren’t any soldiers or slaves she could try it out. Maybe if she snuck out in the other direction from her crypt, toward the castle, she could find a passageway less traveled. But would the soldiers suspect she had no business going that way? She’d have to risk it. And she had a decent chance of being able to protect herself now. Her aim was improving. Though she didn’t want to have to resort to that until she was ready to make her ultimate escape—it would most certainly get her captured if the Revinir found out just what she was capable of too soon. She needed to hide her abilities to keep the suspicion at a minimum.

  A big part of Thisbe wanted to fold up inside herself when she truly thought about having to hurt anyone—even the ones who had hurt her. She didn’t think it was in her nature to kill a person, even though she’d done it before by accident as a child. Indeed, there was a big part of her that denied she’d really have to go through with it. Perhaps there was another way to get out without having to leave any carnage behind. But if there was, she hadn’t thought of it yet. So she was determined to prepare. Also in the back of her mind was the unsettling reminder from the Revinir that she was more evil than good. Could it be true? Thisbe had lied multiple times, and it seemed like the Revinir could tell. Maybe being able to lie so easily really did make Thisbe an evil person—and here Thisbe had thought it was just her ability to be a good actor. But it seemed true—the Revinir had been somehow taking in dormant dragon magic for years, and that was one thing the dragons could tell about humans. Thisbe remembered how Hux had said Dev was exactly half and half. It didn’t seem surprising that the Revinir would be able to pick up that ability from the magic in the bones. Which made it more unsettling.