“I’m going back to the Scorpion Den, Clay!” Qibli said. “The most dangerous city in Pyrrhia! To save one of your students! And this is all you have?”

“Sorry,” said Clay. “I told you, it’s not exactly a weapons cave.”

“No. I would call that a weapons box,” said Qibli, pacing in a circle around the box that sat in the middle of the stone floor. “With hardly anything in it.”

“This is a school, you know,” Clay pointed out. “Sunny and I thought perhaps an entire cave full of sharp objects might not be the best idea. We thought maybe, hey, something that locks instead.”

“So to defend this entire school,” Qibli said, “you’ve got … three knives, one sword, and a big stick. In a locked box.”

“Hey, that stick is very heavy,” Clay protested. “You wouldn’t want to get whacked with that thing. Also, we have Tsunami! And now Peril. That’s better than a couple of swords.”

Qibli sat down and covered his face with his wings. “I can’t face him with nothing.” He felt as if his heart was trying to jitter its way down his arms and out through his claws. Breathing was much, much harder than it was supposed to be. “If I go to him with no weapons, I might as well cut my own throat and hang my corpse from the alley wall.”

“Yeesh,” said Clay. “Are we still talking about your grandfather?”

Qibli nodded. He didn’t trust himself to stand up while the floor was doing the weird tilting thing it apparently had to do right now.

Qibli’s first memory of his grandfather was of hundreds of eyes: the eyes of all the tattooed skulls staring at him with the same cold, calculating look his grandfather wore. The skulls were there to greet him the day he struggled out of his egg, and they returned, like malevolent clockwork, every three days — as they would have for the rest of his life if he hadn’t been lifted out of his family.

A later memory: the hiss of snakes, their writhing scales covering the floor as he beat his wings to stay above them, while his grandfather timed how long Qibli and his siblings could last before collapsing. He remembered the sharp sting of the snakebites as less painful than the disapproval on his grandfather’s face.

Vulture was a large, terrifying presence that loomed over every corner of Qibli’s early life. Qibli was convinced that Grandfather would have killed off all three of Cobra’s dragonets if it were up to him. This was Qibli’s biggest clue that his mother really loved him — because, he reasoned, Cobra must be protecting them from Grandfather, risking his wrath to keep them alive. Which meant she must love Qibli in some way, after all, even if it was a deeply hidden way.

Qibli’s plan for a long life boiled down to one essential element: never see Grandfather again.

But if Grandfather had Ostrich, there was no choice.

“You really have to be armed to visit your grandfather?” Clay said.

“Definitely. True when I was a dragonet, more true now. He never liked me,” said Qibli, giving breathing another try. Nope. Still impossible. “I haven’t gone back to see him since I joined the Outclaws. He made it clear he was pretty unhappy about that, though.”

“Angry letters?” Clay asked sympathetically.

“Sort of,” said Qibli. “More like a hundred dead rats. Spread out over a couple of years, and always in new unexpected places.” Like inside my blankets when I went to sleep at night. Buried and decaying in a vat of grain I was supposed to be guarding. Lying by the shores of the oasis pool with their throats slit. He knew they must be from his grandfather, but he’d never told Thorn. He didn’t want her to worry about him, or worse, try to do something about Qibli’s grandfather that might get her killed.

“Do you have any poison?” he asked hopefully. “I could dip one of these knives into it and have a poisoned dagger! Oh, I’d feel a lot safer with a poisoned dagger. In a very sturdy sheath, I mean.”

“Of course we don’t have poison,” Clay said. “Remember the whole ‘this is a school’ thing? Our plan is to teach these dragonets peace, not more violence. My training sessions are only about self-defense.”

“That’s all I want to do!” Qibli said. “Defend myself! With a poisoned dagger and a couple of swords and maybe some throwing stars and a mace would be nice.”

“You don’t need that stuff,” said a gruff voice from the doorway. “You’ll have me.” Winter slouched handsomely against the cave wall, wearing one of his most heroic scowls.

“Oh, will I?” said Qibli.

“I’m coming with you,” Winter said. “To rescue your little SandWing friend or whatever.”

“Really?” said Qibli, genuinely surprised. “Why? Because you adore me and can’t bear to see me leave?” What’s his real reason? Is he worried about the IceWings finding out he’s still alive, so he’s decided to get out of here? Or maybe Darkstalker has enchanted him to keep an eye on me, in addition to whatever other spells he has on Winter …

“Because I owe you for helping me find Hailstorm,” said Winter, “and if we’re even, maybe you’ll stop bothering me all the time. And also because it’ll be funny to be the one annoying your tail for once.”

“So, basically because you adore me,” Qibli said with a grin.

“This is already backfiring,” Winter muttered.

“Well, tragically,” said Qibli, “I’m afraid you cannot come.”

“I seem to recall saying something similar to you once,” said Winter. “With equally unsuccessful results, just so you’re prepared.”

“No, you really can’t,” said Qibli. “I mean, I’m basically walking into a den of killer scorpions.”

“I’m not afraid of the Scorpion Den,” Winter said, bristling.

“I’m not talking about the city,” said Qibli. “I’m talking about my family.”

“They can’t be as bad as mine,” Winter said. He flicked a wing dismissively.

“Actually, they’re exactly like yours,” Qibli said, rubbing his eyes. “Except they don’t bother pretending to be civil, they don’t know which fork is for salad because in their minds all forks are for impaling their enemies, and they’ll stab me from every direction at once, not just in the back.”

“So you need me,” said Winter. “Perfect. Ready when you are.”

Qibli thought for a moment. If Winter was under some kind of Darkstalker-induced spying spell, there wasn’t anything Qibli could do to stop him. Except …

“If I let you come with me,” said Qibli brightly, “will you put on my earring?”

“Absolutely not,” said Winter. His gaze fell on Clay’s ear, where an earring exactly like Qibli’s now glittered. Winter’s frown went slightly deeper and more puzzled.

“Everyone’s wearing them,” Clay said cheerfully. He touched the amber teardrop so it wobbled for a moment. “Very fashionable.”

“Qibli, what are you up to?” Winter demanded. “This is a startling new level of weird, even for you.”

“Our animus friend enchanted them to protect us from evil spells,” Qibli said, glancing sideways at Clay, who mercifully had not asked a ton of questions about where the earrings came from. “Come on, Winter, don’t be a burrowing shrew. Just put one on and you’ll understand. If I’m right, and you’re under a spell right now, it’ll release you. And if I’m wrong, you’ll be exactly the same, but safe from any future spells, and isn’t that a good thing?”

“I’m NOT UNDER A SPELL,” Winter said. “And I don’t want to be! I remember what Hailstorm’s spell felt like and it was awful! You keep your enchanted geegaws away from me.”

“Geegaws,” Qibli echoed. “How can you call me weird and then use ancient old worm words like that?”

“I’m coming with you, and I’m not wearing any stupid earring,” Winter said firmly. “I thought this was an emergency. Why are you still here?”

“I know, I know,” Qibli said, clutching his head. “I have to go, I know I need to go right now, but facing my grandfather — I’m not ready. I don’t know how to get ready. Did Sunny tell you about the tattoos?”

“No,” Winter said in a bored voice.

“He has a dragon-skull tattoo for every dragon he’s ever killed,” said Qibli. “He’s covered in them.”

“Sounds a bit obvious.” Winter yawned. “Why not just tattoo ‘I’M TOTALLY MENACING’ on his forehead.”

Qibli laughed. He’d never ever laughed about his grandfather before. The tight claws digging into his lungs eased back slightly.

It would feel better to have an ally, even an enchanted, sarcastic one who pretends to hate me. And if I keep him close, I’ll find a way to get that earring on him.

“All right, you can come,” he said. “As long as you listen to me. Like, if I say, Quick, dive into that barrel of scarab beetles! you have to do it right away, no arguing.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Winter said. “I intend to be just as helpful and obedient as you were on my quest.”

Qibli picked up one of the daggers. “I guess I’ll take this one,” he said to Clay. “If that’s all right.”

“Sure,” Clay said with a shrug, reaching to close the box.

I wish I had something else. One dagger and a bowl that doubles anything you put into it. That’s all I’m taking to face the king of the Scorpion Den underworld?

If only I had Darkstalker’s scroll!

It was Winter’s fault that Peril had burned the scroll. Winter was the one who’d refused to let Qibli have it; the one who’d turned a perfectly reasonable discussion into a fight, which Peril felt she had to stop by destroying Qibli’s one chance at having magic.

But he couldn’t be furious at Winter right now, not the way he wanted to be. As long as he was under Darkstalker’s spell, Winter was basically not himself. Qibli had to give Winter back his mind.

And then he could be furious at him.

“Let’s go,” he said to Winter.

“I’ve been ready forever,” Winter said with another yawn.

Qibli led the way through the school to the main hall, where Sunny, Starflight, and Peril were waiting for them. Night had fallen quickly outside and the cave was full of fluttering echoes, like the whispers of tiny dragon wings, as bats stirred and woke and took flight. Peril saw Clay enter the cave behind Qibli and gave a little sideways jump, then made a face like she jumped sideways all the time, no big deal, totally normal behavior, followed by an “is everyone looking at me? stop looking at me!” face.

(Qibli suspected he could spend hours tracking the emotions on Peril’s face and never get bored.)

“Qibli, maybe I should give you my dreamvisitor,” Sunny said, twisting her front talons together. “Oh, why didn’t I keep the one we found on Flame? I can’t believe I let Darkstalker just waltz off with it.”

“Part of the spell,” said Qibli. “You trusted him, so you didn’t even think to worry about it.”

“Hey, don’t forget they were his originally!” Peril blurted.

“That’s true,” said Starflight, nodding. “He’s the one who made the dreamvisitors, all those centuries ago.”

Qibli tilted his head. “Oh. I wonder if that means they won’t work for us anymore,” he said to Sunny.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again with a startled look, reaching up to touch her earring. “Oh dear,” she said. “I use it all the time! How am I supposed to check on you without it? Or communicate with Glory?”

“We’ll have to think of something else,” Qibli said. “But speaking of animus-touched objects, I was wondering … I was wondering if maybe I could borrow Anemone’s weather bracelets.” It would be a small piece of magic, but magic nonetheless, and he’d take any magic he could get right now. Any magic would be better than none.

Sunny hesitated, then glanced at Starflight and Clay. “What do you guys think?”

She doesn’t trust me with them, Qibli thought with a crashing wave of anxiety. She’s like Turtle and Peril; she thinks I don’t deserve magic, or that I’ll do something terrible with it.

But I wouldn’t! his mind flared indignantly. I’d be so careful! I’d think through everything that could go wrong before I did anything. And I have so many great ideas! I would have been the right dragon to take care of Darkstalker’s scroll, I know I would have, no matter what Winter thinks.

“Sounds all right to me,” Clay said with a shrug.

“Unless we might need them to defend the school?” Starflight worried.

“You don’t need magic bracelets,” Qibli joked. “I’ve seen your secret weapon.”

“Is it me?” Peril asked, throwing her wings open excitedly, which made Winter jump back with a hiss. “Am I the secret weapon? I’d be a great secret weapon!”

“Actually, I was talking about the very big stick in the weapons box,” Qibli said, “but you’re almost as scary.”

Sunny dug into her bag and pulled out the bracelets. They glowed like captured lightning in the lamplight as she placed them carefully in Qibli’s talons. “Be very careful with them,” she said. “I don’t know how they work. And please bring them back for Anemone once Ostrich is safe.”

Qibli slipped the bracelets around his wrists; they looked like bands of fire against his pale yellow scales. These were not like Turtle’s quiet, sidling, don’t-look-at-me spell things. These bracelets shouted POWER POWER POWER and I DO AMAZING THINGS and ADORE ME and DID YOU NOTICE THE AMAZING THINGS I CAN DO? and STAND BACK WHILE I BRING THE LIGHTNING and P.S. YES I SAID LIGHTNING! COWER BEFORE ME, BORING NORMAL DRAGONS!

Real magic.

He wished he could wear them forever. Maybe if I help save Anemone, she’ll let me keep them.

“They’d look better on me,” Winter commented.

Qibli shot him a frown. He was not going to do this again; he was not going to let Winter start a fight that might convince Sunny to take them away.

“We’ll see you soon,” he said quickly to Sunny and the others. “We’ll get Ostrich and bring her right back.” He glanced at Winter, then lowered his voice to whisper in Sunny’s ear. “And you’ll make sure Moon gets an earring? As soon as possible?”

“Tsunami is leaving with earrings for Glory, Moon, Turtle, and Anemone as soon as she’s got them on the other SeaWings here,” Sunny promised quietly. “I’ll handle the rest of the students.” She took Qibli’s front talons in hers. “Thank you, Qibli. Good luck.”

“You too.”

“Gah, with the endless good-byes already,” Winter grouched. “Let’s GOOOOOOO.” He stomped out of the cave and lifted into the night sky.

“I’ll miss you, too!” Peril called after him.

“Wish we could take you with us,” Qibli said, “buuuuut you would literally burn down the entire Scorpion Den the minute you touched anything. Not the most fireproof place, is what I’m saying.”

“Dragons should really build more cities with ME in mind,” Peril said. “Also rainforests and libraries. More fireproof rainforests and libraries, that would be great.”

It was time to go. Qibli knew it, and he couldn’t put it off any longer … but it was almost more than he could bear, intentionally seeking out his grandfather. His grandfather, of all dragons. Couldn’t he face Scarlet or Darkstalker or Blister or someone more generally evil instead? Did it have to be a dragon who very specifically hated and haunted him?

Think of Ostrich. Think of the oaths you swore to the Outclaws. Think of what Thorn would want you to do.

Think of what Moon would do.

Qibli waved good-bye to the watching dragons, spread his wings, and launched himself toward his darkling past, now become his uncertain future.