In the Kingdom of Sand, three explosions rocked the markets at three different oases, timed to go off simultaneously. Dragons wearing black hoods and gold medallions stamped with a bird symbol were spotted fleeing the scenes. In the streets and tents and towns of the kingdom, SandWings muttered and growled to one another. Who is doing this? Why isn’t Queen Thorn keeping us safe?

In the Kingdom of the Sea, a class of young dragonets on an overnight trip was terrified half to death by a pale phantom that dove from the sky. It swept around the island where they were camped, hissing and snapping, and at least five of the dragonets swore it glared at them with beady black eyes. Rumors spread quickly that the tribe was being haunted … by the vengeful ghost of Albatross.

And far to the north, in the Ice Kingdom, in the midst of a blizzard, Winter’s brother Hailstorm stood before the wall of rankings, shivering with fever. His claws brushed over the last spot, where Winter’s name had been not long ago.

Why is this happening to our tribe?

Are we being punished for what happened between me and Winter?

A dragon trudged through the snow toward him but had to stop halfway, his body wracked with deep, lung-churning coughs.

“Is there news?” Hailstorm asked. “Are my parents any better?”

“No,” the other IceWing wheezed. “They’re getting worse. But there’s something else — someone else.”

Hailstorm waited through another storm of coughs. “What is it?” he said finally. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Queen Glacier,” said the other dragon. “She got the plague first, three days ago.”

“I know,” said Hailstorm. The world was swimming before his eyes. Heat blurred his vision, pounded through his blood.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s over,” said the messenger. Snow covered his wings, his tail; snow piled up around his talons, consuming him from all sides. He bowed his head as though he was ready to sink into it and become a part of the frozen landscape forever.

“The queen of the IceWings is dead.”