The first invitation to the palace came two months after Arctic discovered Darkstalker was an animus.

Darkstalker knew it was coming, and not because of any prophetic vision. He’d expected it ever since the night Arctic told Foeslayer everything, at dinner after Clearsight was gone. He’d been listening to Arctic wrestle with whether to tell anyone all evening. It actually made him like his father a tiny bit when Arctic finally decided he couldn’t bear to keep it from Foeslayer.

“Did you know,” Arctic had said, stabbing his claws into the rabbit on the table, “that our son has been keeping a secret from us?”

“I know he had a girl here today,” Foeslayer had responded. She smiled at Darkstalker. “What’s her name?”

“Clearsight,” Darkstalker said, smiling back. “You’ll like her, Mother.” There was no need to hide her anymore. Arctic was too unnerved by her prophecy to bother her or try to ruin their relationship.

“She’s exactly right,” Whiteout offered. “Definitely azure on the inside. I like the way she knits.”

Darkstalker had no idea what that meant. He’d never once seen Clearsight knit. But the fact that his sister liked her was really all he needed to know.

“So when do we get to meet her?” Foeslayer had asked, her eyes sparkling.

“That is not the secret,” Arctic barked. “Pay attention. Darkstalker is an animus. He’s probably known for years without telling us. And he’s using his magic.”

Foeslayer dropped her rabbit and stared at Darkstalker.

“Magic brother,” Whiteout said thoughtfully. She reached across the table, lifted one of Darkstalker’s talons, and flipped it over, tracing the lines of the scales. “That’s all right; he’s not going to snow for a while.”

“Thanks,” Darkstalker said with a grin, resisting the urge to hug her. He sensed new fear from both his parents, but nothing different in the starscape of Whiteout’s mind. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but he knew she loved him with all his weirdness, the same way he loved her.

He shrugged at Foeslayer. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It rather is, actually,” she said. She rubbed her snout between her eyes. “Oh, Mother is going to be horribly pleased.”

Darkstalker and Whiteout rarely saw their grandmother, who used to be one of Queen Vigilance’s closest advisors. She’d been demoted after the fiasco with Foeslayer and their diplomatic visit to the Ice Kingdom, even though the queen had officially pardoned Foeslayer. Grandmother had always looked down her snout at Foeslayer’s hybrid offspring, muttering about how the only way this mess could have been worth it was if one of them had at least turned out to be an animus.

It’s going to be sort of beautiful, Darkstalker thought. Grandmother would have to admit that perhaps Foeslayer’s forbidden love wasn’t the biggest mistake any NightWing had ever made. Because if it brought animus blood to the NightWing tribe … surely that was worth a mere little war with the IceWings?

And then perhaps she’d even have to be nice to her daughter once in a while. Darkstalker would enjoy watching that.

“She’s going to eat her tongue,” Whiteout agreed.

“Gross,” Darkstalker said, making a face at her. She giggled.

“How do you propose we leash him?” Arctic asked Foeslayer. Darkstalker saw bubbling flashes of ideas in his mind — things he could enchant to keep his son under control.

“Stop thinking what you’re thinking,” Darkstalker said quietly, dangerously.

Arctic gave him a sharp look. “Stop listening to what I’m thinking.”

“You can’t afford to use your magic again,” Darkstalker said. “It will destroy you. You’ll end up like that SeaWing. I know; I can see the holes in your soul.”

There was a twist of genuine fear inside Arctic, which sort of surprised Darkstalker. Not only was Arctic more worried about his soul than Darkstalker had expected, but he also apparently believed that Darkstalker could see how close he was to turning evil.

Across the table, Whiteout nodded. “I had an apple like that once,” she said ruefully.

Foeslayer leaned toward Darkstalker. “If you can see the damage it’s done to your father,” she said, “doesn’t that frighten you? Doesn’t it make you want to be careful?”

“I’m not damaged,” Arctic snarled, but internally he was counting all the times he’d used his magic. It must be the magic I used for our escape from the Ice Kingdom. Or the spell that keeps Mother’s magic from working on me. But those enchantments were necessary … Will I really go mad if I use my power again? I should do something to contain my son … but what if I turn evil and hurt Foeslayer?

“Yes,” Darkstalker answered his mother. “Don’t worry, Mother. I am being careful.” He held out his talons. “There are no spots on my soul.”

“Only stripes,” Whiteout said, and burst out laughing.

Oh dear, Foeslayer thought, regarding her daughter with a puzzled expression. Why couldn’t either of my dragonets be the slightest bit ordinary?

“Life’s more interesting this way, right?” said Darkstalker, and she smiled at him.

On his other side, he could hear his father thinking venomous thoughts. Even after all these years among the NightWings, and despite his own son’s power, Arctic couldn’t seem to hide what he was thinking and didn’t even bother to try. I hate when they communicate like that, he thought in a dark grumble. I don’t get to know what she’s thinking, but he does? And she doesn’t care that he just invades her mind like that. NightWings and their horrible powers.

“We should tell Queen Vigilance,” said Foeslayer. “Shouldn’t we?” She worried at the corner of the table. It’s the right thing to do, as a loyal NightWing (and to prove that I am a loyal NightWing, despite everyone’s suspicions) … but what will the queen do about it? Will she try to use my son? What might she ask him to do?

“Let’s talk about that in private,” said Arctic.

“Oh, good,” said Darkstalker. “No reason to involve me in that decision.”

But he had dropped it, knowing they would decide to tell the queen. He didn’t mind if they did. He was ready for the whole tribe to know.

Which didn’t take long, because Whiteout started mentioning it at school. Keeping secrets was not something she ever did. Darkstalker got the impression sometimes that she thought if she knew something, everybody must know it, like they all shared one mind.

So she’d slide comments about his animus power into ordinary conversations, without seeming to notice how it blew up everybody’s brains. It was sort of fun to watch.

Suddenly Darkstalker had throngs of new friends to choose from. Everyone treated Clearsight like she was royalty, or at least royalty-adjacent. His teachers were more cautious with their criticism, more likely to love his ideas. Nobody made fun of his sister anymore. And all the oldest dragons around him seemed to feel entitled to ask him thousands of nosy questions a day about his new power.

He rather liked being the NightWing tribe’s first animus.

Then the first invitation to the palace came, and Darkstalker met the queen in an awkward private meeting, where she assured him she was looking forward to hearing any ideas he had about how best to use his power. Perhaps against the IceWings. Hint, hint. He promised he would put a lot of thought into it, to make sure anything he made for her was worth the risk to his soul, and then they both thought about the SeaWing massacre for a minute, and then she quickly excused him.

But more invitations followed, one after another. Dinner parties, tea with the queen, hunting weekends, races and tournaments and games — everything he and Foeslayer had been carefully excluded from for years, even after Arctic became a fixture of court life. Queen Vigilance was more interested in what his power could give her than frightened of what might happen to him. She wanted him close to her, dependent on her, and Darkstalker liked going so he could study her and see how palace life worked.

The only problem was that Clearsight refused to go with him to any of the royal gatherings. He kept telling her that other dragons brought guests. He could certainly bring his soulmate with him. But she wanted to be invited to the palace on her own merits — by doing something to help the tribe and catch the queen’s attention herself, not by slipping in on another dragon’s arm.

There wasn’t much he could do to change her mind. But his foresight said it wouldn’t be much longer; he’d had a vision of the two of them at the palace that he was sure would happen soon. And in the meanwhile, he just had to put up with a LOT of boring court conversations.

There was something different about this latest invitation, though. As he moved around his room, getting ready, he felt a weird spark of anticipation zapping through him.

A welcoming party. That’s all it had said. Welcoming who?

Darkstalker had looked into the immediate future and seen a cluster of SeaWings, which was surprising. But he didn’t linger on it. Studying the future was Clearsight’s obsession, not his. He knew how quickly and easily the future could change, so trying to keep track of all the possibilities was a waste of his time. He accepted the visions that burst into his head, since those were usually warnings. And sometimes he looked ahead to the futures where he and Clearsight were married with their own dragonets. A future without Arctic — that was the promise his gift of foresight gave him.

He took an earring out of his jewelry chest — silver, designed to look like a snake twining down his ear. This one was enchanted to make everyone who met him think he was exceptionally handsome and charming. Clearsight had made him promise to never wear it around her.

“I like seeing you the way you really are,” she’d said.

“Which is not exceptionally handsome and charming?” he asked, half joking, half offended.

“Just handsome enough,” she had said, “with a head that still fits through doors. Also, I don’t like watching other dragons fawn over you.”

“Jealous?” he’d asked with a grin.

“No, it’s just … creepy,” she’d answered, not joking at all.

Well, she wouldn’t be there tonight, and he should try to make a good impression on whoever was being welcomed, surely.

The other accessory he chose for the evening was a tail band, the latest fashion trend. His wound around his tail five times and was also silver, like his earring, and carved to look like dragon scales. It was a bit heavier than he liked and he also thought tail bands looked sort of ridiculous. But this one had a particularly useful enchantment on it, so, although it was unwieldy, it was nonetheless a good idea to wear it.

“Are you still primping?” Arctic demanded, shoving his head into Darkstalker’s room. “The queen will not be pleased if we’re late.” He was one to talk about primping: his moon-white scales were set off by necklaces of black jet and bright green emeralds, and matching rings glittered on a few of his claws.

“You can go ahead without me,” Darkstalker said, trying not to show how much that would please him. They rarely attended the same court events if they could avoid it. But in this case they had both been expressly commanded to attend.

“I’ll wait,” Arctic said with a heavy sigh. Need to make sure he gets there, his brain muttered. Important night. Can’t be late. One of the conditions was that we must not embarrass her in front of the SeaWings. Or else she’ll send them back, or kill them, or whatever she plans to do.

Hmm, Darkstalker thought to himself. That was mysterious. But if the fate of the SeaWings might depend on his punctuality, he supposed he could hurry himself up.

Foeslayer was waiting for them by the door, wearing emeralds and white moonstones that complemented his father’s black gemstones — a trick they often played with their jewelry. It gave them the illusion of matching, of fitting perfectly together. Foeslayer reached out and adjusted one of Arctic’s chains, her talons drifting lightly down his neck.

It’ll be all right, she thought. Arctic’s idea is clever. It’s just what Darkstalker needs.

“Me?” Darkstalker said to her, suddenly suspicious. “What do I need?”

“Nosy mind-snooper,” Arctic growled at him.

“You’ll see,” Foeslayer said patiently, brushing her wing against Darkstalker’s. “Whiteout, be good while we’re gone.”

“No wild parties,” Darkstalker joked.

“You’re the one going into the wild,” Whiteout answered from her spot by the fireplace without looking up from her scroll.

“Oh,” said Foeslayer. “All right, then.”

Whiteout generally was not included in the invitations. Various excuses had been given, but the truth was, the queen still wasn’t entirely comfortable with such an obvious hybrid roaming around her court. She never said so out loud, but Darkstalker could see it in the thoughts Queen Vigilance tried to shield from him. He’d be more offended on his sister’s behalf, but he knew she would hate the stilted formality of palace functions anyway.

“Let’s go,” snapped Arctic impatiently. “Come on, come on.”

It was a short flight to the palace, which was lit up from end to end, firelight blazing in nearly every window. There was no prisoner in the display cage, perhaps so it wouldn’t scare their visitors. A light drizzle had started to fall, misting them each with wet sparkles and steam as they proceeded from the landing ledge into the grand ballroom.

“Prince Arctic, Foeslayer, and their son, Darkstalker,” announced the dragon at the head of the staircase. Darkstalker always enjoyed hearing his father’s inner turmoil that he was no longer proclaimed as “Prince Arctic of the IceWings” — although really, he should be grateful to still have any royal title at all.

Heads turned in their direction all across the room, which was decorated for the evening in swathes of blue and green fabric. Small rock pools had been set into the floor and tiny waterfalls cascaded in the corners. The banquet table smelled more like fish and shrimp and seaweed than normal.

There were special lessons at school for mind readers, teaching them how to survive in crowds without getting overwhelmed. Darkstalker, fortunately, had learned quickly how to melt everyone’s voices into the background. He knew most of these dragons were too boring to listen to anyway.

“Hello, dear,” said Queen Vigilance, sweeping up to capture Darkstalker’s attention as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs. She wore an ostentatious crown and her wings were loaded with an unnecessary amount of diamonds. She was considered to be one of the shrewdest queens in recent NightWing history, and she certainly did a superb job of intimidating her daughters, such that none of them had mustered the courage to challenge her yet.

But Darkstalker had been inside her mind. He knew that a lot of her apparent menace came from one trick: the fact that she spoke very little, allowing the dragons around her to fill in all the gaps with their own nervous chatter. She was also deeply paranoid, often killing off perceived threats long before they were actually dangerous. That might seem shrewd to outside observers, but Darkstalker thought it was a sign of her own anxiety and shortsightedness.

“Your Majesty,” Arctic interjected before Darkstalker could speak. “You look radiant and regal, as always.”

“Hmm,” said the queen, touching her crown. Darkstalker wondered how his father had never noticed that she wasn’t susceptible to flattery. Vigilance found compliments highly suspicious. Arctic’s remark just made her think: What does this slippery IceWing want now?

“Is this the new Tunesmith composition?” Darkstalker asked, deflecting her attention. He tipped his head toward the musicians playing on a stage at the end of the room.

“It is,” said Vigilance, pleased.

“She’s so talented,” Foeslayer said.

Our composer laureate could sneeze out a better song than this, Arctic thought bitterly. “Any news of the war?” he said to the queen.

She narrowed her eyes at him, just a tiny bit. In her mind: It could be over by now if you would be the slightest bit helpful. Her gaze stopped briefly on Darkstalker and he heard her wonder if he’d be of more use than his father.

“Nothing new,” she said aloud.

Queen Vigilance left one of her usual momentary silences after this remark, and Foeslayer was the first to rush in and fill it. Poor Mother, thought Darkstalker, exactly the kind of nervous dragon the queen loves to trifle with. He’d have to find a subtle way to make Vigilance pay for making his mother so uncomfortable.

“A very successful battle last week, though,” Foeslayer said. “We drove the IceWings back and took a lot of desert territory, with very few casualties. And our air defense team is unbeatable. It’s such an honor to be working with them. No IceWings will ever get into the Night Kingdom with them on watch.”

Well, thought several minds at once, except for the one who’s already here.

Arctic allowed himself a small, grim smile as Foeslayer fidgeted with her claws.

“Hmm,” said the queen again. She turned to Darkstalker. “Come meet someone.” His parents started to follow them and she gestured to stop them in their tracks. “Not you.”

Foeslayer was all relief and eagerness to get to the food, but small geysers of resentment were going off inside Arctic as Darkstalker walked away with the queen.

You won’t look so smug when the IceWings do get into your kingdom.

Darkstalker turned to look back, wondering if he’d heard his father’s last thought correctly. But Arctic had vanished into the crowd, his mind just another part of the commotion coming from all the other dragons in the room.

It didn’t matter. Arctic had bitter thoughts about the downfall of the NightWing tribe all the time, but none of those thoughts had ever led to action. Darkstalker was confident he didn’t need to worry about his father’s treacherous fantasies — not for a while, at least, according to Clearsight.

The queen led him to a roped-off area with low purple couches and tables of sparkling drinks. Four SeaWings stood awkwardly inside, looking more trapped than honored. Two of the queen’s sons were making small talk with them, and one of her councilors had taken over a couch as though she’d given up.

“Prince Fathom of the SeaWings,” said the queen, indicating a green dragon only about a year older than Darkstalker. He had an oddly anxious aura, as if he were gripping the floor with his claws in order to avoid being blown away. “This is Darkstalker.”

The other animus, Fathom thought with a jolt of fear. He took an unconscious step closer to the dragon beside him, whose scales were a deep blue that was almost purple. She looked outwardly calmer than he did, but her heart was racing as fast as his and terrifying images were flashing through her head. Neither of them even seemed affected by the spell his earring cast; they were too busy being scared to find him handsome.

Darkstalker realized several things at once.

Fathom was an animus as well.

Fathom had been in many of Darkstalker’s visions of the future.

Fathom was here for him.

And: both of these dragons had witnessed the massacre when the SeaWing animus turned violent … at a party very much like this one.

No wonder they were terrified — a party plus an unfamiliar animus, where they were the guests, much like those SkyWings who’d been attacked.

Darkstalker checked Queen Vigilance’s brain, but he didn’t find any intentional malice there. She wasn’t trying to traumatize the SeaWings. She just hadn’t thought about the effect this particular welcome might have.

“Hello,” Fathom said, trying to summon years of etiquette lessons. “V-very pleased to meet you. This is — these are my guards, Wharf and Lionfish … and Indigo.”

She’s not just a guard, Darkstalker guessed, but she held herself like one, strong and serious-looking. The other two were background noise, irrelevant to Darkstalker’s future.

“I’m honored to meet you, too,” he said. I have to get this poor SeaWing out of here. “Has anyone shown you the view from the Royal Tower yet? May I?” He turned to the queen. “I know you have many duties with your guests, Your Majesty.” He would have preferred to separate Fathom from the others, but he could sense that Indigo would never let that happen. “I’ll take Fathom and Indigo for a short flight and we’ll be back soon.”

The queen, unsurprisingly, found this highly suspicious, but she couldn’t think of any way to stop it without offending the SeaWings. “Of course,” she said. She pointed one claw at Darkstalker. “Soon, though.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed and spread one wing to point the way out of the ballroom, ignoring the tumult of worries inside both SeaWings. Should we insist on bringing the other two guards? Indigo wondered, while Fathom thought, Is he taking us away to kill us?

Calm DOWN, jittery SeaWings, Darkstalker thought with an internal eye roll. I’m trying to help you.

The closest exit led from the ballroom down to one of the hanging gardens. The noise of the party faded behind them as the three dragons flew through the ancient trees, where moss and vines hung down from the branches like shrouded wings. Mirrors set up throughout the gardens captured and reflected the silvery light of the three moons. The rain had stopped, but everything still glistened and wet leaves fluttered damply at their scales.

Darkstalker landed on a small island in one of the dragon-made lakes. The moonlight was bright here, pouring down over the columns of a temple that had been built to honor the first librarians of the Night Kingdom. We give thanks to those who gathered the scrolls, who preserved the knowledge of previous generations, and so on and so on.

“This doesn’t look like a tower,” Fathom said, landing but keeping his wings spread. Indigo swooped around the island once and then started pacing out every inch of it, checking all the dark corners. Keeping up her conscientious bodyguard act, when Darkstalker could see that what she really wanted to do was put her wings around Fathom and take him far, far away from here.

“I’m giving you the grand tour,” Darkstalker said to Fathom. “Well, actually, I’m just trying to save you from that awful party.”

“Oh,” Fathom said, flustered. “It’s not — I mean, it’s very nice of the queen to — I just —”

“It’s torture,” said Darkstalker wryly. “I mean, it’s torture for me, and I’ve never had my whole family killed in front of me at a party like that.”

Indigo stopped and stared at him. Fathom’s gaze dropped to his talons.

“Oh, nobody talks about it in the Kingdom of the Sea?” Darkstalker guessed. “All right, I won’t if you don’t want to. But if you were sent here to be my friend, then you don’t have to suffer through all that diplomatic tedium — especially with the bonus post-traumatic stress.”

“You know why I’m here?” Fathom said.

“Because we’re both animuses,” Darkstalker answered. “Animi? Huh, I’m not sure. That one doesn’t come up very often.”

There was a soft click, and Darkstalker realized that Indigo suddenly held two dangerously sharp throwing stars in her talons.

“Indigo —” Fathom said anxiously.

“He’s here,” Indigo said to Darkstalker, “to make sure you don’t turn out like his grandfather.”

“That’ll be an easy mission,” Darkstalker said charmingly. “I’m not murderous at all. I’m entirely delightful.”

So was Albatross, they both thought.

Indigo and her throwing stars were not the real threat here. The danger was that these dragons might never see him for himself. If they only ever saw Albatross when they looked at him, they’d always fear him, and that might make one of them do something stupid.

Darkstalker decided to turn the full blaze of his attention on Fathom. “Listen, if you’re worried,” he said, “why don’t you make something? A — a soul reader, you could call it. It could reassure you about who’s harmless and full of soul, like me, or who’s teetering on the edge of soulless killing rage. Liiiiiiike not me.” That was a pretty good idea, if Darkstalker said so himself. He could use one of those to keep track of Arctic’s soul, perhaps.

But Fathom was shaking his head furiously. I can’t I can’t I can’t, his mind cried.

“All right, settle down,” Darkstalker said, surprised. “I can make it for you.”

“No!” Fathom yelped. “You mustn’t. You have to stop using your magic. That’s why I’m here, to help you stop.”

Darkstalker eyed him for a moment, listening to the tornado of grief and guilt and worry that had apparently taken the place of logical thought in this dragon’s head. Should he tell Fathom about his scroll? Surely he would find it reassuring. Maybe Fathom could even make one for himself and stop worrying so much.

On the other hand, he didn’t know Fathom at all yet. Could he be trusted with a secret that big?

Completely, and not at all, whispered a half-formed vision of the future, which was rather unhelpful.

Not yet, Darkstalker decided. Get to know him first.

How am I going to do this? Fathom was thinking. I failed so badly before. How can I possibly save him, and everyone?

“You don’t have to be this miserable,” Darkstalker said softly.

Fathom lifted his chin, and Indigo thought sadly, I wish I could help him.

“You went through something awful.” Darkstalker held out one talon as though he could crush the memories in his claws. “All you need to do is enchant something to make the pain bearable. Just — an earring that helps you stop thinking about it so much. An armband that lifts all the grief or stops the flashbacks.”

Indigo’s eyes flicked to Darkstalker’s jewelry, and he heard her wonder what magic he might already be using on them. Clever dragon, he thought. I should be careful of her.

“I have to remember,” Fathom said, looking straight into Darkstalker’s eyes. His were gray green, like miniature oceans after a storm. “I can never stop thinking about it.” Or else it could happen to me. The memories make sure I keep my vow to Pearl.

His vow formed, word for word, in his mind, and Darkstalker repressed a sigh. What kind of animus gave up all his power forever? What kind of life could he have, always haunted by the past and ruled by fear?

“Don’t you want to be happy?” Darkstalker asked. “I can help you with that.”

All at once he felt cold steel pressed against his neck. Indigo was suddenly behind him, her wings pinning his, his throat on the knife’s edge. She’d moved with astonishing quickness, and Darkstalker caught a glimpse in her mind of the hours she’d spent training in the year since the massacre, making herself stronger and faster so no dragon could ever hurt her or Fathom ever again.

“Indigo, don’t!” Fathom froze, his eyes fixed on the blade at Darkstalker’s neck.

“He’s too dangerous,” Indigo cried. “He’s already trying to mess with your head, can’t you tell? This isn’t safe, Fathom. I should kill him right now, to protect everyone.” To protect you, her mind confessed.

Darkstalker raised his tail quietly. One touch from his silver tail band, and she would be dead. It wasn’t quite as secure as having all his animus power in his talons, at his disposal whenever he needed it. But he was sure he could kill her before she killed him.

First, though, he wanted to see Fathom’s reaction.

“No, Indigo, we can’t,” Fathom said. “He’s not Albatross — he hasn’t hurt anyone.” Yet, chimed in their minds. “And killing him could start a war with the NightWings.”

“Or maybe save them,” she pointed out. “Maybe save all of Pyrrhia.”

“But I want to know him,” Fathom said. “He doesn’t seem dangerous.” He seems like … he seems like he could be a friend, the SeaWing thought wistfully. The earring must be working on him — along with Darkstalker’s natural charm, of course.

“That could be a trick — he could be using a spell on us right now,” said Indigo. “Maybe he’s planning to kill us later.”

No, just you, Darkstalker thought pleasantly.

“And I bet he’s a mind reader,” she added, pressing the blade a little harder against his throat. “Are you a mind reader? Don’t lie to us!”

Darkstalker flicked his tail a hair closer to her. “I am,” he said. “That’s not a secret. Any NightWing with silver teardrop scales by their eyes is a mind reader — I’m certainly not the only one in the tribe.”

“An animus who can read our minds!” Indigo said to Fathom, her thoughts flaring with alarm. If Albatross had been able to do that, we’d both be dead. “Fathom, this could be our only chance to take out the most dangerous dragon in Pyrrhia.”

“Indigo,” Fathom said sadly. “Think for a moment. Isn’t this what our tribe wants to do to me?”

Hmmm. Interesting. Fathom was smarter than he looked — or he knew exactly what to say to this dragon, at least. Indigo’s thoughts hit a wall of sympathy and she hesitated, struggling against it.

Darkstalker took the moment to check the immediate possible futures. Indigo killing him — pretty unlikely. Him killing her — easy enough. But, wow, it would destroy Fathom. Oooh, all kinds of terrible things might come from that decision. A heartbroken animus with nothing left to lose would be pretty hazardous company.

I have to let her live — for now — and let her think she could have killed me, he realized. That will make Fathom trust me even more.

But if I want him to really trust me, for the sake of our future friendship, I’ll have to get rid of her somehow. Some clever way that he won’t suspect.

Otherwise he’ll always be worrying about what she thinks of him. It’s her eyes on him that make him so afraid of his magic. He’d be much happier and less worried without her around.

As would I, frankly. I don’t particularly like dragons who point sharp things at me.

“All right,” Indigo said finally. She stepped back, still holding the stars poised in her talons. “I hope you’re right about this, Fathom.”

“Please don’t be mad,” Fathom said to Darkstalker. “She’s trying to protect me. It’s her job.”

A small flicker of pain from Indigo. It was so much, much more than her job.

“I completely understand,” Darkstalker said, rubbing his neck. “I’m not mad at all.”

If he was, Fathom thought, he could use his power on us right now. He could have used it to escape from her. Maybe he really can be trusted, after all.

I hope I didn’t just make a really terrible enemy, Indigo was thinking.

Ha ha, Darkstalker thought. Oh, you certainly did.

“Hey, I promised you a view from the Royal Tower,” he said, nudging Fathom with one of his wings. “You can see almost the whole Night Kingdom from up there. Come on, we’ll have plenty of time for serious talk later.”

He lifted into the sky, stretching his wings wide and letting the moonlight cascade over him. Nothing to be mad about, he thought to himself. In fact, I learned quite a lot here tonight.

Poor Fathom, with all his anxiety and self-loathing. I can make it better. I’m going to show him what a gift animus power is. I’ll give him a reason to be happy he’s alive. I’m going to take away all his fear and guilt and replace it with joy.

And then, once he has something else to live for … that’s when I’ll take care of his Indigo problem.