Dev narrowed his eyes. And then he shrugged as if it didn’t make a difference anymore. “There’s no way you’ll get to her. She’s deep in the dungeon. Compartment three thirty-three with Maiven. Not that Thisbe the thief will ever thank me for that, but she should. It was my suggestion they put her with the old hag. She’s . . . really a decent person.” His eyes flickered with pain, and he turned away, touching his bruised nose gingerly.
At the sound of a rooster crowing in the distance, Dev’s stern demeanor returned. “Almost seven already,” he muttered. “I’ve got to go.” He pivoted and ran down the gravel road toward the forest.
Seth’s heart pounded. “Don’t leave me here alone!”
Dev ignored him and kept going.
“Tell Fifer what I said!” Seth squeaked, desperate.
Dev waved, and Seth took that as a sign that he’d tell her, which gave him a little bit of comfort. But then Seth realized what Dev had said. Almost seven o’clock. The dragon food alarms were set for eight. Would Fifer remember to change them back since the dragons still couldn’t fly? Did she even know what the right times were for each dragon? Would the soldiers be suspicious when Arabis’s trapdoor didn’t release in a few minutes? Seth was certain they’d notice.
Helplessness and fear slammed into Seth’s chest. The feeling of being utterly, completely overwhelmed was overtaking every other feeling Seth had ever had. It started like a pebble in the bottom of his stomach, and it moved and rolled and grew, sending out waves of nausea in all directions. They were small waves at first, but those grew too, and soon his body was paralyzed by them. His throat closed up, and he couldn’t catch his breath. His hands and feet went numb, and then his face, and he couldn’t think straight. He sank to the dirt, a tiny being in this huge, strange world, gasping for breath as panic overtook him. His heart throbbed. Was he going to suffocate? At this point, he thought that anything would be better than feeling like this.
“One breath at a time,” his mother would tell him. “It’s always okay to feel scared.” As Seth fell to his side, he tried with all his might to concentrate on taking one good breath. He closed his eyes as tears slid out and felt the waves of panic pounding him like they weren’t going to let up. He took a quick breath, trying to slow the waves down, and let it out. And then he panted for a few seconds and tried another. He stared at the castle, at the row of dungeon windows, and began counting them very slowly out loud to help him get his breath back.
Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, Seth’s heart stopped pounding so hard. His lungs thawed, and his breathing came easier. And the panic waves subsided. He remained on his side for several more minutes, all the strength sapped from him. But then he pushed himself heavily to a sitting position, knowing he had to pull his thoughts together to try to figure out what to do.
“The dungeon window,” he muttered. That’s how he’d talk to Fifer. He got to his feet and tried to figure out which of the low windows along the base of the castle might lead to her. And though he wouldn’t be able to cross the moat and get close enough to whisper to her through it, at least he could shout something and she might hear him. He’d have to risk getting caught to do it, but he was willing to try.
Reimagining the route they’d taken inside the castle to the dungeon, Seth began to walk around the outside in the same direction, straining to see if there was any particular dungeon window that looked familiar. He had to find Fifer before it was too bright out, so he could still make a run for it if he got caught. And he had to do it before seven so that Fifer wouldn’t get in trouble for messing with the timers. If she got sent to that maze of a dungeon like Thisbe did, he’d never find her.
At that moment Seth realized that, somewhat miraculously, he was developing a rescue plan all on his own, without Thisbe or Fifer. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually done that before. It made him feel a little more grown-up than usual. He picked up his pace and strained his eyes in the dim light until he rounded the corner. One of the dungeon windows was lit up. It had to be the right one—the rest of the dungeon had been much darker than the dragon’s area.
Seth positioned himself outside it, wishing he could somehow jump across the moat so he could talk directly through the window to Fifer. He’d even consider swimming, but he had no idea what was in that water, and he wasn’t desperate enough to find out. Yet.
He tried to peer into the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of one of the dragons or even Fifer, but he could only see the dungeon wall and the flame from the torch that was attached to it. It was amazing the castle didn’t burn down with all those torches everywhere. These people needed to figure out how to use magic to make light, Seth thought. The wooden stables that housed the dragons could go up in flames if a torch got too close.
Just as Seth leaned over the moat and put his hands by his mouth to guide his voice to Fifer, another voice from behind nearly made him face-plant into the moat.
“Now, therrre’s a familiarrr face. I don’t suppose you need a rrride to that window?”
Redoubled Efforts
By the time Fifer realized what was happening on the ramp, Seth was gone and she was alone. She didn’t even have the heart to fight or argue with the soldiers, or to ask them what was happening. Instinctively she knew—they were letting Seth go free, like Dev had said would happen. She’d climbed up and stood on the top of Arabis’s stable wall, leaning over to peer out the window, wondering if she could see him. But after a minute she couldn’t hang on anymore, and she gave up. Now what was she going to do?
She climbed back down, then sat on the floor under the window and put her face in her hands. She was so tired. They’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours. Her body was sore from all the climbing. And she was alone. What a rare thing that was. If she was ever without Thisbe, even for a few minutes, Seth was usually there for her to rely on. Now she had no one but herself. And if she was ever going to get out of there, she needed a plan.
She had to get the wings to work. It didn’t matter how impossible it seemed—she was the only one left. She was out of options. Besides, the food timers were all set to go off in an hour, and that would release all of the dragons from their muzzles at the same time, which meant that Fifer needed to figure out how to free them from their stalls by then too, so they could escape. Fifer knew she didn’t have much time. And the wings were the most important thing. She could only hope now that the soldiers didn’t notice the trapdoors weren’t opening on schedule . . . but she had a feeling they didn’t care all that much to pay attention.
Wearily she got back up and climbed into Arabis’s stall. She sat on the creature’s back for a long moment, running her hand over the soft, silky skin and the smooth scales. “We’re going to get out of here,” she murmured to the dragons. “We have to. As soon as your food drops, be ready to do whatever it takes to bust out of here. Even if we have to break down your doors, we’re going to escape, and we’re going to get Thisbe, and then we’re going to leave this place and never come back.” She sounded more sure than she felt. But she wasn’t going to cave in to fear now—she needed her twin and their best friend, and she wasn’t going to put up with being without them any longer.
As she sat with Arabis, she went back in her mind to the day Alex had brought the wings to life. She tried to remember every detail. He’d put a hand on one wing at a time, and then he’d concentrated for a while, and then he whispered the spell. It was a single word. “Alive.” Fifer was sure of it. She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her weary head against Arabis’s neck. She just needed a second to gather her concentration. She melted against the dragon, her heavy lids unwilling to open, and sank hard and fast into sleep.
When Arabis shook her awake a few minutes later, Fifer sat up, dazed. She hadn’t meant to drift off, but even those few moments of sleep had done her a world of good. She felt refreshed. Ready to tackle the spell.
“Okay, here we go,” she said to Arabis. “Bring your right wing up if you c
an.”
Arabis obliged, and Fifer stood on the dragon’s back so she could reach the spot she needed. She put her hand over the seam and closed her eyes. She imagined the wing the way she wanted it to be—sleek and strong. And all the same color wouldn’t hurt either, but she wasn’t going to be picky about that. She focused on the extended wing and the dragon being able to fly gloriously, to be able to go where she wanted to go. To live where and how she wanted to live.
Fifer’s eyes flew open. “Live,” she said. “Not ‘alive.’ It’s live!” Seth was right after all. She’d had the wrong word. And now he was going to tease her about it . . . if she ever decided to tell him. If she ever saw him again.
With renewed hope, Fifer closed her eyes and concentrated. She saw Arabis in her mind, swooping and soaring, wings outstretched and beautiful and having no problems holding the dragon in the air. A little shiver came over Fifer, and she knew she was ready. She took in a deliberate breath and let it out smoothly, then whispered, “Live.”
A moment later she opened her eyes. And there, at the tips of her fingers, was a new, almost perfect extension of Arabis’s wing. “Yes!” said Fifer, pumping her fist. It was ugly and gray, but it was securely attached and looked like a real part of the wing. Sort of. “Close enough,” she said proudly. “Arabis, we did it. Let’s get your other wing up here.”
Arabis made an encouraging noise through her clenched jaw and quickly brought her other wing up for Fifer to fix. Fifer took her time once again, even though she knew she was battling against the clock. But rushing things wouldn’t do any good, so she forced herself to do it properly.
Once Arabis’s wings were done, Fifer jumped up onto the wall and climbed into the next stable to fix Yarbeck’s wings. When she was in the middle of that, she heard a familiar sound. “Pssst!”
Fifer turned sharply, looking first toward the small hallway to the dungeon, but realized the sound wasn’t coming from there. She looked all around and then finally up and to the outside wall where the little barred window was. Seth’s face peered down at her. He waved.
Fifer’s eyes widened as she saw another face push Seth’s out of the way. “Simber!” she whispered. She felt like crying. “You came!”
“Don’t worrry. We’rrre going to get you out of therrre,” said Simber, and the sound of his voice took away every fear Fifer had been carrying for the past many days. But Simber continued with concern. “It’s going to be verrry difficult, though. And we may have to leave the drrragons behind forrr now.”
“But—no! I’ve figured it out,” Fifer whispered. “I’ve got Arabis’s wings done, and I’m about to start working on Yarbeck’s. Their muzzles will be loose at eight, right, Seth?”
“Yes,” said Seth. “Nobody’s caught on yet that Arabis’s food didn’t drop at seven?”
Fifer shook her head. “They don’t even come over here. I don’t think they care about them at all.” Her lip trembled, and she reached down to hug Yarbeck’s neck. “But we care. And we can do this.” She hesitated, and then looked at Simber again. “Did you come alone?”
Seth had been so overwhelmed to see the cheetah that he’d forgotten to ask the same question. The two children looked at him expectantly.
“No. Thatcherrr and Carrrina came with me.”
Seth sucked in a breath. “My mom is here?” He’d never been more excited to see his mother. He didn’t even care if she was mad at him. She would help take out the enemy—she was amazing. He looked around and toward the woods, in case they were hiding out. “Where are they?”
“Well,” said Simber slowly, “that’s one of the difficult parrrts of this rrrescue that I was telling you about. Because they’rrre capturrred too.”
A Major Change of Plans
Simber explained what had happened with Carina and Thatcher as quickly as he could, but there was no time for details now. Then he and Seth told Fifer that the two of them were planning to storm into the castle right at eight, at the same time the dragons’ muzzles unlatched. They’d help free the dragons, then go through the dungeon to find Thisbe, Carina, and Thatcher. Then all the dragons and Artiméans would meet outside on top of the castle to figure out how to secure the necessities like food and water for the long journey home together.
It sounded like a nice, easy plan—if you actually knew how to get past all the soldiers to free the dragons and unshackle prisoners in a dungeon maze. And if Simber actually knew how to open the portcullis and the drawbridge. Fifer didn’t ask too many questions.
They soon parted to begin putting the plan in place. Fifer continued magically fixing the dragon wings, finishing Yarbeck the purple and gold, Ivis the green, and her old friend Hux the ice blue.
With only a few minutes to spare, Fifer came to Drock the dark purple at the end of the line. He remained the most temperamental of the bunch, and she really needed him to cooperate. “Okay, Drock, we need to hurry a little,” she said, which wasn’t the best suggestion to make to a dragon like Drock. “Lift your wing up here, nice and high.”
Drock, who was anxiously anticipating his one measly meal of the day, didn’t want to do anything of the sort. The girl had been climbing all over him and the others for hours, and he was getting tired of it. Plus, he didn’t like the sock things they’d stuck on his wings, and he tried to scrape them off. One of them was barely hanging on by a couple of scatterclips.
“What have you done?” Fifer asked, dismayed. She was growing desperate. “Please, Drock, I need your help. I can’t lift your wing by myself. This magic will make you fly again. And we’re going to get you out of here—we’re all going to escape. Okay? Can you lift your wing for me? Please?”
Drock wouldn’t do it. Hux made a loud noise from the next stall over, trying to cajole his brother into doing it, but that didn’t work either.
The clock was ticking. Simber and Seth would be storming through here any second. If she didn’t do her part of the job, it could end in disaster. Fifer reached down and tried yanking the wing up. She struggled and tugged again. Drock squealed and bucked her off his back. She went sailing out of the stall and landed on the floor, the breath knocked out of her.
Just then, the woman soldier who’d escorted Seth out of the castle came into the dragon area with the head soldier. They picked up Fifer by the armpits and started dragging her away. “Time for you to go to market,” said the woman with a laugh. “Dragonsmarche, here we come.”
Fifer barely had any struggle left in her, but she reached down deep. She kicked and wriggled and shouted, but she was no match for the adults.
A second after Fifer was dragged away, all five of the trapdoors over the dragons’ heads dropped down. A huge pile of food fell into each stall. The distinct clicks of five muzzles being released could be heard . . . but only the dragons were there to hear it. They looked at one another in stunned silence. Theoretically, four of the five of them could fly again. Their muzzles were loose for fifteen minutes, all at the same time. They knew the plan. But with Drock stuck with his old wings and Fifer carried off, they had no idea what they were supposed to do now.
To the Rescue
At the same time Fifer was struggling and trying to catch her breath so she could yell for help, two different soldiers deep inside the dungeon grabbed Thisbe, who was sound asleep. They unshackled her and dragged her off. “Thatcher!” she yelled. “Carina! Maiven! Help!”
Her voice woke her friends, but there was nothing they could do. “We’ll find you!” Carina shouted. “Stay strong!” She cursed under her breath.
“Maybe Simber will see what happens to her,” said Thatcher.
“I hope so.” Carina yanked at her chains, but it did her no good.
Thisbe punched and kicked and yelled the whole way through the dungeon maze, whenever she could get a limb free. As the soldiers pulled her up the staircase on one side of the castle, Fifer’s soldiers were dragging her up the ramp on the other. Someone ordered the portcullis to be raised and the drawbridge lowered. The
two parties reached the vast entryway at nearly the same time, but the girls were too busy trying to fight to do much more than acknowledge the presence of one another. They went past the glorious tigers and the lines of soldiers that started to multiply, and turned toward the castle entrance.
The portcullis was up by now, but they had to wait for the drawbridge to descend. As it began to drop, a monstrous noise erupted in the entryway. Splinters of wood went flying everywhere. People scattered. Both Thisbe and Fifer stopped struggling for a moment to see what was going on. Then they caught sight of their beloved Simber, who had crashed through the drawbridge with Seth safely protected inside his mouth. The beast was flying high above their heads.
The soldiers shoved the girls to the walls to contain them and keep them away from the strange flying creature. But Fifer still had a chance to shout, “Seth! Fix Drock’s wings! The word is ‘live’! Hurry!”
Seth stared down at the growing mayhem, looking all around, but he couldn’t find Fifer in the chaotic sea of green coats. “Okay!” he shouted back, but he knew there was no way he could do such a remarkable thing. He wasn’t capable.
Now that they were through the drawbridge, Seth climbed out of Simber’s mouth and pulled himself up onto the cheetah’s head, then slid down his neck and hung on.
“Do you see them?” Simber demanded, now that he could speak. “Wherrre arrre they?”
But the girls had soldiers hovering over them, keeping them hidden from view as they moved toward the exit. When Simber continued flying farther inside the ornate castle entrance, the soldiers began herding the girls across the splintered drawbridge, avoiding the huge hole.
Simber flew onward, with Seth directing the mission. “We don’t have time to search for the girls right now,” he said anxiously. “We need to keep going to the dungeon while we still can.” Seth was nearly as eager to rescue his mother as he was his two best friends, but he had other matters to attend to first. “The dragons’ muzzles are only loose for fifteen minutes, and now I’ve got to figure out how to fix a pair of wings, too. Go that way,” he said, pointing to the right. “Down the ramp!”