A gust of wind swept a cloud across one of the moons, and it began to snow harder. Winter stared down at the tracks of dragon prints that crisscrossed the courtyard. He couldn’t think. He could barely breathe.

“We did not think you could possibly be alive, Hailstorm,” Narwhal said, inspecting his older son from wings to claws. “Congratulations on your survival. The queen will be pleased to welcome you back to her army.”

Hailstorm swept his tail in a slow arc through the snow, his head drooping lower.

“As for you, Winter,” Narwhal went on. “We have heard a lot of stories about your behavior. Perhaps you can clarify some of them for us. Attacking your own sister at Jade Mountain Academy. Leaving the school without your queen’s permission. Traveling with a NightWing. Leading the RainWings straight to Icicle’s hiding place so she could be imprisoned. And then abandoning her, unconscious, in the rainforest, where any NightWing might have murdered her. Disappearing into Pyrrhia without consulting your queen. Consorting with dragons from other tribes. Gone for days with no message sent home and no oversight or explanation for your behavior.”

He took a step toward Winter, his talons crunching in the snow. “What were we supposed to think? How were we supposed to account for you in the rankings? What choice did the queen have?” He swept one wing toward the wall.

That’s where she’s gone, Winter realized. Queen Glacier is in the rainforest to deal with the Icicle situation. He wondered if his sister was still asleep, and whether Scarlet had returned to torment her dreams. How would the queens decide to punish his sister for everything she had done? Queen Glory wasn’t likely to accept “demotion to the bottom of the Seventh Circle of the rankings” as sufficient justice. No one but an IceWing would understand what that meant.

“Father,” Hailstorm said suddenly. “I see I am no longer listed in the rankings, but may I have permission to speak?”

Narwhal inclined his head. “Briefly, if you please.”

“My brother acted rashly and without oversight,” said Hailstorm. “But he did so to save my life. I would have been executed within hours if he had not saved me in time. He was courageous and honorable in his time away from the Ice Kingdom. I am prepared to attest to that before the queen.”

His eyes flickered sideways to Winter, the only betrayal that he was not telling the entire truth. Winter knew he couldn’t possibly approve of Winter’s friendship with Qibli, Moon, and Kinkajou. But would he hide it to protect Winter?

Was he expecting Winter to hide the truth about Pyrite in exchange?

“Come to my chambers,” Narwhal said, shaking snow off his wings. “Tell me the whole story there. Winter, go to your room, and I will summon you shortly.”

Hailstorm shot Winter another significant look as he followed their father away. A minute later, the other IceWings in the courtyard had dispersed, leaving Winter alone.

He spent several minutes scanning the rankings, taking note of what had changed in his absence. His cousin Snowfall was the new top of the First Circle on the dragonet side, which was disheartening, as she was already abundantly blessed with mean smugness. Lynx was in second place behind Snowfall, and that was much better news; she was only the daughter of a minor noble, but a hard worker and very smart.

On the adult side, he saw that his parents had fallen several spots, nearly into the Third Circle, which meant they were almost in danger of losing their right to live in the palace. That’s our fault, he realized. Having me and Icicle at the bottom of our rankings reflects badly on them. We dragged them down.

No wonder Father is so angry.

At least, Winter thought he was angry. It was hard to tell; Narwhal’s outward demeanor was much the same whether he was proud or furious.

That wasn’t quite the homecoming I was hoping for, he admitted to himself. But he hadn’t exactly expected a parade either. A nod of approval was as much as his imagination had been able to come up with, but apparently that was still hoping for too much.

He dragged himself through the palace to his old room, bowing low to everyone he passed — most of whom were too startled by his appearance to respond. In a way, it did make things simple, being at the very bottom. He didn’t have to keep the list memorized when he knew that everyone was above him.

He hoped seeing his old room would cheer him up, but instead it struck him as a bare, joyless box that seemed to have shrunk while he was away. The one window overlooked the courtyard, which he definitely did not want to look at right now. The snowflakes in the walls had become a blizzard, matching the oncoming snowstorm outside. Winter set the moon globe on his desk, turning it one rotation to dim the light to a sleep-appropriate glow.

He dropped onto the shelf of ice that served as a bed, and then after an uncomfortable minute, he got up and pulled the two polar bear rugs up onto the bed with him.

Perhaps sleeping in grass had made him soft, but he was too tired to punish his aching bones any more. He curled into the warm white fur, remembering the bright colors of the rainforest, the busy sounds and smells of Possibility, the voices calling and talons thumping through the halls of the Jade Mountain Academy.

The flash of silver scales against black; dark eyes in the moonlight; the fire that roared forth to protect her friends.

Don’t dream about Moon, he told himself with his last waking thought, and then fell asleep knowing perfectly well that he would, and unable to feel anything but relief at the prospect.

*  *  *

He had expected to be prodded into wakefulness with sharp claws by some messenger from his father. So it was unsettling to wake up slowly and realize that morning light was pouring through the window.

It was even more unsettling to roll over and find his mother’s eyes fixed on him from only a few inches away.

Winter let out a yelp and sat up fast, knocking one of the rugs to the floor. Tundra frowned at it for a moment, looking more puzzled than disapproving, and finally kicked it out of her way with one foot. The SkyWing teeth in her necklace made the jittery, small clattering sound they always made when she moved — a sound that still made Winter want to run and hide in a snowbank.

“The sun has been up for an hour,” she said.

Winter took a deep, stabilizing breath and tried to match her flat “here is some information” tone. “I did not stop to sleep after finding Hailstorm,” he said. “We flew home as fast as we could.” Apart from one detour to drop an injured RainWing in a town of overlapping dragon tribes that you would hate on sight. He wondered how Kinkajou was doing, and whether she’d woken up yet.

Tundra studied him for a moment with her stormy gray eyes. “Good,” she said at length. “No apologies. But now it is time to rise. There will be a ceremony in the courtyard in seven minutes that you must attend.”

“Yes, Mother,” Winter said, stepping off the bed shelf. A ceremony — most likely restoring Hailstorm to the rankings. But where? At the top, where he’d been when he was captured?

Winter hoped he’d get to see Snowfall’s face if that happened. That would make the torture of a rankings ceremony worthwhile.

His mother paused in the doorway and gave him another assessing look. Finally she said, “Thank you for bringing Hailstorm home.”

What is this feeling? Winter wondered. Elation? Pride? He’d never felt anything quite like this swelling in his chest before. He dared to give her the smallest of smiles.

Tundra blinked slowly. “It was the least you could do,” she added, and then she turned and left.

Winter could practically hear Qibli’s voice in the room beside him: So THAT didn’t last very long. He startled himself by laughing.

I’d better not do that again, not in front of Mother and Father. I’m going to have to work harder than ever to climb back up the rankings now.

He scooped some snow off the windowsill and rubbed it all over his scales, polishing them as clean as he could get them in three minutes.

He made it down to the courtyard two minutes before the ceremony. Almost every dragonet in the palace was there, lined up in order, wings folded in attention position. He found his way to the end of the line, in the back corner farthest from the rankings wall. The tiny dragonets back there with him gave him curious looks and whispered to one another in voices that were really not whispers at all.

Adult dragons were gathered around the perimeter of the courtyard — more than were ever usually present for a dragonet-ranking ceremony. The sun glinted off white scales in many of the windows, indicating that even more were watching from overhead.

They want to see how Father will handle this situation, Winter thought. Can he be impartial with his own son? Will everyone still think his decision is fair?

Tundra, Narwhal, and Hailstorm swept into the courtyard in a triangle formation with Narwhal at the front. This was something Winter had seen so many times growing up, but had never expected to see again. Their tails swept majestically through the snow, leaving long snaking trails behind them.

Narwhal pivoted to face the gathered dragonets, who all fell instantly silent.

“We have some changes to make to the rankings of which you all should be aware,” Winter’s father said, his resonant voice echoing around the courtyard. He sounded just like Queen Glacier — straight to business without any meandering preambles.

“Several months ago, a dragonet was removed from the wall due to reports of his death. He has now returned to us, alive after all. This is my son, Queen Glacier’s nephew, Hailstorm.” Narwhal indicated Winter’s brother with a sideways flick of his wing. “Therefore he must be added back to the rankings.”

He turned to Tundra, who flexed her claws, ready to write. “At the time of his capture, Hailstorm was in first place.”

Winter risked craning his neck to see Snowfall, right at the front of the crowd. Her face was turned away from him, but he could see rigid tension all the way through her spine and wings.

“But he has been without oversight for almost two years, and by his own admission, in that time he has not behaved according to our IceWing standards. We must also factor in the clumsiness of allowing himself to be caught by SkyWings in the first place.”

Winter flinched. What a thing for Hailstorm to hear upon his homecoming.

“Therefore, after careful consideration,” Narwhal announced, “we are slotting Hailstorm into last place in the Seventh Circle. May he claw his way back up with his own talons.”

A collective gasp and a murmur of bewilderment ran through the gathered dragons. Even the most rigorously trained IceWings couldn’t suppress their reactions. No one had ever, ever expected to see Hailstorm’s name at the bottom of the rankings list.

Tundra bent toward the wall, scratching Hailstorm’s name below Icicle’s.

Wow. Winter felt faintly dizzy. It had to be unprecedented in IceWing history for one set of parents to have all three of their nearly grown dragonets in the last three spots. This would be devastating for Tundra’s and Narwhal’s rankings as well. Would they all have to move out of the palace? Where would they be assigned? What would Mother and Father do if they were no longer advisors to the queen?

At least no one could accuse Narwhal of sentimentality or favoritism.

Hailstorm was watching their mother with a perfectly impassive expression. Did he remember that he’d once been on track to be ranked even higher than his parents? No one had ever been number one in the dragonet rankings for as long as he had been. Expectations had been high for where he might climb once he turned seven and shifted to the adult rankings.

A deep chill suddenly ran through Winter’s scales. Turning seven. He’d completely forgotten — he hadn’t even thought about how old Hailstorm was. Hailstorm’s seventh hatching day was only twelve days away.

And wherever he was in the rankings on that day would determine the course of the rest of his life.

Could even Hailstorm rise back to the top that fast? Would he choose to risk the Trial? Or would he be exiled to an island outpost two weeks from now?

Perhaps Winter had rescued his brother from one terrible fate only to doom him to another.

“One more announcement,” Father said brusquely. “Another dragonet was recently shifted to the bottom of the list due to unsupervised, unauthorized activity. However, new light has been shed on his behavior for the last week. According to the newest information, he has conducted himself with courage and intelligence befitting an IceWing. While we cannot approve of any dragonet acting outside approved orders as he has, in this case the final result — returning a missing dragon to the tribe — outweighs our disapproval.”

Winter could scarcely believe his father was talking about him. The balance of praise to criticism had never tilted in his direction before. Would this get him back up to the Fourth Circle? Maybe even the Third?

“Therefore, we are obligated to adjust his ranking accordingly. All present advisors have been consulted, and by general agreement, we are slotting my other son, Winter, into first place in the rankings.”

Tundra lifted her talons and stabbed Winter’s name on the wall. With a crackling sound and a shower of icy sparks, she slid the name sideways and up, flapping her wings to reach the very top of the First Circle.

First place. ME. WHAT.

Hundreds of eyes were staring at Winter now. The crowd reaction was less shocked than the reaction to Hailstorm’s placement. Other dragons had performed deeds worthy of jumping to the front of the rankings before — although perhaps there was an undercurrent of surprise that it was Winter, of all dragonets, who’d managed it.

Did I really earn it, though? Winter wondered. What did Hailstorm tell them?

Also, although he didn’t want to admit this to himself, he couldn’t fight off the lurking suspicion that this was truly Narwhal’s way of maintaining his own status. A son in first place would counterbalance the weight of one in last, and if the story of his heroic rescue was impressive enough, it might even drag Tundra and Narwhal back up a few numbers.

“Winter,” his father said, indicating the front row with his tail. Winter wondered if he was the only one who could hear the tiny note of impatience in Narwhal’s voice.

He spread his wings and rose into the air, feeling the wide-eyed gaze of baby dragonets following him. As he flew to the front, he passed Hailstorm in midair, but his brother only nodded on his way by.

The glare Winter got from Snowfall should have melted all the ice in the courtyard. She edged sideways to let him take her spot, fuming.

First place. Number one.

It was really up there, his own name shining at the very top of the rankings.

Maybe I can take a minute to enjoy it, even if I’m not quite sure how I got there.

He gave Snowfall a dazzling smile and she hunched her wings with a scowl. On her other side, Lynx smiled back, mouthing the words, “So great.”

Narwhal cleared his throat. “As per the usual protocol, the queen will review the new assignments upon her return, which we anticipate will be tomorrow. Further changes may be in order then.” Winter saw his mother glance at Icicle’s name, then drop an expressionless mask over her features. “But for now, these are your new rankings. Dragonets dismissed.”

The courtyard instantly filled with the murmur of shocked conversations. Winter saw a few older, extremely high-ranked dragons coming toward him. He wished he could cover himself in snow and hide.

“Well,” Snowfall said, looking down her nose at a spot just behind his left ear. “That was unexpected.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Congratulations,” Lynx said. “You must have had such an adventure.” She had an unusual pattern of dark blue scales scattered across her white snout and wings. Winter had always found them pretty, but now they just reminded him of Moon’s silver scales. He wished he could tell Moon that he was number one in the rankings … although, of course, that wouldn’t mean anything to her.

“Indeed,” said Snowfall. “I can’t wait to hear all the details.”

On that ominous note, Winter was swept into a whirlwind of congratulations, questions, bowing, and advice. Every adult dragon in the palace had an opinion on how to maintain your spot, and many of them had suggestions for his future if he could keep first place all the way until his seventh hatching day. Behind them, Snowfall’s smirk clearly expressed that she didn’t expect it to last even a week.

One week, Qibli’s voice echoed in Winter’s head.

He still had five days to decide to go back to them. Four, since one would be needed for traveling.

What am I thinking? No one would EVER leave after reaching first place. This is every IceWing dragonet’s dream.

Firmly he focused his mind on the nobles around him.

Was it hours later that the courtyard finally cleared? The last noble gave him a respectful nod and flew away. Only a few dragonets remained, including Snowfall and Hailstorm, who were both staring at the rankings as if they could reshape them with the sheer force of their eyeballs.

Winter’s stomach ached with hunger, but he needed to talk to Hailstorm before going hunting. Maybe they could even go together — one of the things Winter had missed most while Hailstorm was away.

Was the dragonet in first place allowed to hunt with the dragonet in last? Could he lose his new ranking if he associated with someone in the Seventh Circle? There had never been such a gap between family members before, so he wasn’t quite sure what the protocol should be.

But he was going to talk to Hailstorm anyway. The watching dragons could eat the moons if they cared. He needed to reassure his brother that climbing back up the rankings could be done — and remind him that it had to be done fast, in case Hailstorm’s muddled memory couldn’t recall his hatching day.

The snow was packed down by the hundreds of dragon feet that had passed through this morning. Shards of blue sunlight reflected off the tallest towers, illuminating odd splotches of the courtyard.

Snowfall watched the brothers with slitted eyes as Winter slid up to Hailstorm.

“Are you all right?” Winter whispered.

Hailstorm frowned at him. “That’s not a very IceWing question,” he pointed out. He hesitated, and then bowed deeply to Winter.

“Stop it, stand up,” Winter hissed. What a horrible feeling, to have his exceptional older brother bowing to him like that. It made the whole world feel out of order, as if the palace had been flipped upside down. He tried to hide how flustered he was as Hailstorm stood back up. “It seems like a good sign that you remember what is and isn’t an IceWing question,” he pointed out.

“Of course I do,” Hailstorm said in a distant way. “Everything is very clear now that I’m home.”

And yet — the way he glanced at the sky … Winter wondered if he had really shaken off all those SkyWing memories yet. Perhaps he remembered how to be an IceWing, but he hadn’t yet found his way back to being Hailstorm. The brother Winter had missed for so long would have had a laughing comment about Winter’s new rank.

“Hailstorm,” Winter said hesitantly. “What did you tell Mother and Father?” He wished they’d thought to compare stories before coming home. He needed to know what he should say about Pyrite and where Hailstorm had been for the last two years.

“I told them the truth.” Hailstorm drew himself up, looking offended. “What else would I tell them?”

“The truth about … everything?” Winter asked. “About … about my friends, too?”

Hailstorm’s expression now was pure IceWing. “If that’s what you want to call them,” he spat. “Yes, I told them about your little band of misfits. I hoped they would promote you up the rankings — I owed you that much. But I did not expect them to raise you so high, not with the entire truth in front of them.” He fell silent, scowling at the wall again.

“This is ssssssssssssssssssoooooooo interesting, isn’t it?” Snowfall strutted toward them, casting arch looks at the circles. “Three moons, Hailstorm, I bet you feel so peculiar right now.”

“Leave him alone,” Winter growled.

She laughed. “There’s not quite enough distance between our numbers for you to be giving me orders,” she said. Her snout was smiling, but her voice was all murderous stalactites. “Besides,” she added, “I’m sure I won’t be the only dragon who wants to ask Hailstorm about the Diamond Trial. Are you considering it, Hailstorm dear? With only twelve days until you’re seven, I certainly hope so.”

Hailstorm didn’t answer her. Winter wondered if he remembered what the Trial was. It had never been attempted in Winter’s lifetime — he wasn’t even sure it had happened in his father’s lifetime. It was so rare for a dragonet to still be in the Sixth or Seventh Circle when he reached his seventh hatching day … and rarer still for any dragonet that inadequate to risk his life on the mysterious Trial.

But Hailstorm wasn’t inadequate; it was pure bad luck that had him so low right now. Whatever the Trial involved, surely he could conquer it easily.

“I mean, if you succeed, you’ll move up to first place,” Snowfall said archly. “Your life would be right back on track instantaneously.”

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Winter asked his brother. He couldn’t understand why Hailstorm was staring fixedly down at his talons.

“Oh, how funny, I wouldn’t have thought you’d want him to,” Snowfall went on, her voice sugary-sweet and mocking. “Have you forgotten that the Diamond Trial must also be undertaken by a defending challenger? That’s whoever is currently in first place, of course. But only one dragon can survive the Trial. Dear me, that means it’ll be brother against brother, won’t it? Tsk, tsk. What a conundrum for poor Hailstorm.”

Winter felt ice grip his heart and spread down to his talons, rooting him to the snow.

He had forgotten about that part of the Trial rules. Or rather, it had never occurred to him that he might be on the other end — the defending first-place dragonet instead of the struggling lower-circle challenger.

But Hailstorm knew exactly how it worked. He knew it would have to be him or Winter; that only one could survive.

And of course, Winter’s parents did, too.

This was their plan — to move a dragon into first place who would be no trouble for Hailstorm to defeat. Snowfall was Glacier’s daughter and formidable in her own way, only a few months from her hatching day. But Winter … Winter was expendable.

Sacrifice one brother to save the other.

They couldn’t give both of us high rankings — someone would have called it unfair. This is more dramatic, more like my parents; a higher risk for much higher gain.

They had to do it. Hailstorm’s future is too valuable to throw away.

He understood his parents’ motivations completely. Whatever happened at the Diamond Trial, they’d end up with a son in first place — and they’d get rid of a disgraceful last-place offender.

But Hailstorm …

His brother finally looked up at him, with those blue eyes sharp and alert once again. This is what you told me to do, his eyes seemed to say. You wanted me to be a true IceWing again. Well, here I am.

And without a word, Hailstorm turned and left the courtyard, leaving Winter behind as a new snow softly began to fall.