Mastermind took a deep breath as they stepped into the library.

“There’s something about the smell of scrolls that always calms me,” he said, waving one talon at the walls.

“Me too,” Starflight admitted reluctantly. He didn’t want to believe he had anything in common with his father.

It frightened him to think of how he might have turned out if he’d been raised on the NightWing island. Would Mastermind have taken him under his wing? Would Starflight be helping him torture RainWings without any guilt or remorse? Would he be inventing new horrible experiments to try on them, never thinking about how they were real dragons he was harming?

He’d be eating rotting animals and studying with the other NightWings and arguing with Fierceteeth, and he’d believe, like the rest of them did, that he was superior to all other dragons in the world.

Except that Starflight had no powers, so he’d have been an outcast eventually, even if he had grown up here. He never would have belonged.

Not that he wanted to … but he didn’t want to be useless either.

“Let’s see,” Mastermind said, studying the large catalog scroll on the main table. Each end of the scroll was rolled around a spindle with a handle that could be turned to navigate quickly through the entire thing. Mastermind spun the scroll rapidly through to the M’s and paused on Medicinal Records.

“Hmm.” He tapped his claws on the list, then turned to the niches in the wall. “Help me brainstorm, son. The queen is very angry about what’s happened to the SkyWing dragonet. I’m afraid he’ll be dead by morning if we don’t find some way to combat the SandWing poison. Which is apparently my responsibility, for some reason, as if I’m not already swamped trying to construct venom-proof helmets for the entire NightWing tribe in two days, using only my regretfully flawed prototype, which the queen says will simply have to do for now.” He paused for a breath, pulling scrolls out and tucking them under one wing.

“Did you say two days?” Starflight echoed, trying to sound casual.

“In case the council votes to attack,” Mastermind answered with a snort. “I tried to tell them that my research is still incomplete and I cannot guarantee that any operation will go smoothly.”

I’m pretty sure I can guarantee that it won’t, Starflight thought, remembering the look on Glory’s face.

Mastermind flicked his tail. “So if you have any ideas, let’s hear them. The problem is that naturally I’ve never studied SandWing venom — orders were to do nothing to antagonize our ally — but if it’s anything like RainWing venom, there is nothing that counteracts its effects.”

Starflight blinked with surprise. His father hadn’t figured out that the antidote to a RainWing’s venom was venom from a blood relative?

It was kind of impressive that none of the RainWing prisoners had revealed that information. Perhaps they were a little tougher and smarter than Starflight had given them credit for.

It was also interesting that the NightWings seemed to have so much knowledge — this entire library full of scrolls — and yet they didn’t know something as essential as how to cure someone who’d been stabbed by a SandWing. Sunny had been able to get that information out of Blaze in a matter of minutes.

Perhaps that’s one downside to staying isolated, Starflight thought. They keep themselves separate to seem more powerful, and yet they’re cut off from so much potential knowledge. If they didn’t feel superior to all other dragons, maybe they’d be better at listening to them, and maybe they’d learn something new.

Mastermind had his nose in a scroll and was muttering grimly. “Unlikely. Tried that on RainWing venom and it didn’t work. None of that nearby. Doubtful.”

Imagine how much we could know if the NightWings studied the right things, like the medicinal properties of all the rainforest plants, instead of torturing dragons and obsessing over their secret plan.

Starflight realized that the section they were standing in was labeled for nightwing eyes only. He pulled out one of the scrolls at random, curious.

It turned out to be a treatise by two authors about the plan to take over the rainforest. One author argued in favor of killing all the RainWings right away, while the other author suggested that enslaving them would be more useful in the long term.

Feeling ill, Starflight shoved the scroll back into its slot with so much force that it wrinkled and nearly ripped in half.

His father looked up at him. “Well? Any thoughts?” He barreled on without waiting for a response. “We may have to contact Blister, although I fear she’ll want to trade information this valuable for something of equal worth to her — like the location of our island.” Mastermind scratched his snout with a worried frown. “Personally, I’m not sure it’s advisable to give her any power over us.”

“Definitely not,” Starflight said. “I don’t trust her.”

Mastermind nodded. “Well, alliances aren’t always about trust, I’m afraid.” He picked up another scroll and unrolled it.

Starflight shifted uncomfortably, flexing his claws. He knew the antidote to SandWing venom. But should he share it with Mastermind? On the one talon, it seemed dangerous to hand the NightWings any more secrets than they already had. He could easily imagine them abusing that information — by attacking SandWings, for instance, with no more fear of what their venom might do. Or they might take all the cacti in the desert and hoard it for themselves so only NightWings would have the ability to heal from a SandWing attack.

Or, from what he’d seen of NightWings so far, they’d probably come up with something even more horrible that Starflight would never be able to imagine on his own.

But on the other talon, Flame was dying. Without the cactus remedy, there was no hope for him. If Starflight told Mastermind, there might still be time for someone to fly to the mainland and get what was needed to save the SkyWing.

Wasn’t that the most important thing? Starflight couldn’t let him die. His friends would choose to save Flame no matter the consequences — wouldn’t they?

Sunny would. Clay would. Glory … I’m not sure. She might say to look at the bigger picture instead.

And Tsunami would say that this is classic Starflight — dithering indecisively instead of doing something.

So, fine. If I can’t make my own decision, then do what Sunny would do.

Starflight opened his mouth to tell Mastermind about the cure, but before he could, three NightWings encased in armor came rushing into the library.

“Mastermind!” one of them shouted. “You’re needed in the council chamber immediately.”

Starflight’s father sprang to his feet and started reshelving the scrolls with fast, neat movements, carefully checking their marks to make sure they went into the right niches. “Why?” he asked the guard at the same time. “What’s happened?”

“The extraction was a failure,” said one of the other NightWings. “They tried to jump through and snatch her while she was watching the tunnel, but there must have been about forty other dragons hidden nearby, like they were guarding her or something. You should see what they did to the three we sent through.”

“You say ‘they,’” said the third soldier, “but we all know most of the damage was done by the SeaWing herself.”

Starflight tried to contain the joy bursting under his scales; he hoped none of these dragons could sense it in his mind. They had to be talking about Tsunami. She was safe, at least for now. His warning had helped.

The first guard shook his head. “I hope Her Majesty never sends me after that dragonet. I’d rather carve out my eyes than try to grab her.”

“I heard she nearly bit Wisdom’s ear off,” said the second.

“The healers are there already, but the queen wants you, too,” the third said to Mastermind. “Hurry up.”

Mastermind shelved the last scroll and hurried after the guards. No one had told Starflight not to follow them, so he did, hoping he’d learn something before anyone noticed he was there.

The council chamber echoed with the roars of angry dragons. Slumped by the entrance were three dragons who certainly looked as if they’d run into the sharper side of Tsunami. Claw marks were slashed along their wings, their tails looked bitten and dented, and all of their snouts were bleeding. Two other NightWings were dabbing at their wounds with bandages, ointment, and disgusted expressions.

“The longer we delay, the stronger they get!” shouted one of the council members. “They could attack at any moment!”

“We should block off the tunnel so they can’t come through,” cried another. “It’s the only way to be safe.”

“Safe for a few days, perhaps,” Greatness interjected from her spot by the hidden queen. “But what about the plan? What about the future of this tribe? We need that tunnel.”

“What we should do is attack right now,” bellowed one of the old dragons on the ceiling.

“Without the SandWings?” Morrowseer’s voice interjected. Starflight realized that the giant NightWing was perched not far from Greatness, but he didn’t look in Starflight’s direction. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed him yet. Starflight ducked behind Mastermind and the three guards, watching through the gaps between their wings.

“Our plan is proceeding as it’s supposed to,” Morrowseer insisted. “We’ve chosen our ally and we have — well, we have most of the dragonets of the prophecy. But we need time to get them ready and marshal our forces for the attack. The plan was supposed to give us two more years.…”

“Look at those soldiers!” another NightWing shouted, gesturing at the wounded dragons by the door. “We don’t have two years — we don’t have two days. Your dragonets are out of control. They’re making even the RainWings dangerous, and they’re threatening the whole plan. We need to go in now, take out the RainWings, and contain the dragonets before they do any more damage.”

“We’re not ready,” growled a dragon with a missing tooth. “Mastermind said we still don’t know enough about the RainWings.”

“We know how to kill them! That’s all we need to know!”

“But where are our extra weapons? Where is our specially designed venom-proof armor? Where are our helmets? What has Mastermind been doing for the last three days?”

“It takes a bit more than three days to make four hundred helmets,” Mastermind called from the doorway, bristling.

Suddenly Greatness rose to her full height and spread her wings. Silence fell almost instantly around the whole chamber. Every dragon turned to face the screen, watching intently as she leaned in to listen to the queen’s instructions. Starflight imagined the creaky rasp of Battlewinner’s voice echoing through the hidden room.

Finally Greatness straightened up and fixed the cavern full of dragons with a black-eyed glare.

“Queen Battlewinner has made her decision,” she said. “We cannot delay any longer.” She looked around as if daring anyone to argue back, but no one did. “We must go through under cover of darkness, kill all the RainWings, and take the rainforest as planned.”

Not a sound disturbed the terrifying stillness of the cavern. The NightWings were frozen, listening.

Greatness took a deep breath.

“Tonight at midnight … we attack.”