During the night, as they flew, Qibli felt a twitch from the slate in his pouch. He breathed a small flame to read the message from Turtle.

KINKAJOU IS AWAKE AND FINE. PLEASE TELL TAMARIN. DARKSTALKER TAKING THE TRIBE TO THE OLD NIGHT KINGDOM IN THE MORNING.

And then a few moments later: EVERYONE DEFINITELY UNDER HIS SPELL EXCEPT KINKAJOU.

Kinkajou! Qibli did a delighted flip in the air. She was all right! Oh, he wished he was back at Jade Mountain so he could tell Sunny and Tamarin and see their faces.

“What are you flopping all over the sky about?” Winter asked from his left.

“Nothing,” Qibli said, tucking the slate away. He wanted to let Winter know Kinkajou was fine — but as long as Winter was under Darkstalker’s spells, he couldn’t be trusted with any secret information, especially anything related to Turtle. “I’ll tell you once you put on one of my earrings.”

Winter pointed at him. “Peculiar. That’s what you are.” He powered his wings harder to fly on ahead.

But Qibli’s elation began sliding toward dismay as the rest of the message sank in.

Darkstalker is taking the tribe away in the morning. What if he leaves before Tsunami gets there? Is Moon going with him? What if Tsunami misses her chance to give earrings to Moon and Anemone?

She’d have to follow them to the old Night Kingdom — if anyone was paying enough attention to notice where Darkstalker went. I don’t exactly love the idea of an all-powerful dragon and his army of brainwashed superpowered followers vanishing into the mist.

But if someone is paying attention, then we could go there, too, and save Jade Mountain from the prophecy.

He worried and wondered about this for the rest of the night, as the mountains gave way to forest and then sandy dunes. It was just before dawn when they spotted the Scorpion Den splayed across the desert ahead of them.

Winter eyed it from above as they flew closer and the straggling alleys, tents, colorful carpet walls, fire pits, and ramshackle structures became visible.

“This place looks …” He struggled for words for a moment.

“Charming?” Qibli supplied. “Picturesque?”

“Unsanitary,” Winter concluded.

“I’m sure you mean charming,” Qibli said. “Thrilling? Untamed! Unconventional!”

Winter snorted. “Unkempt.”

“Oh, yes, that’s true,” said Qibli. “We are definitely not kempt.”

“So what’s the plan?” Winter asked. “Wait until the cover of darkness, sneak over the wall, break into your grandfather’s house, find Ostrich — why are you shaking your head?”

“There’s no sneaking into my grandfather’s place,” Qibli said. “It’s the most well-fortified structure in Pyrrhia.”

“I highly doubt anything in this place could compare to the fortifications around Queen Glacier’s palace,” Winter said haughtily.

“And I mean in a deadly way,” Qibli went on. “The whole thing is lined with mines and traps. One wrong step and your foot gets blown off. A different wrong step, and, hello, that’s a lot of axes. Grandfather isn’t interested in catching intruders and teaching them a lesson. He’s interested in killing them before they even see his treasure.”

Winter’s eyebrows were arched high enough to reach his horns. “Really,” he said. “Then what’s your ingenious plan?”

Qibli grimaced. “Gather information first. Find out if he’s changed in the last few years. Then …” He blew out a long breath. “Then I probably have to talk to him.”

“Ah, I get it now,” Winter said, nodding. “You’re planning to annoy him so much he decides to throttle you, and while he’s distracted with that, I rescue Ostrich. I’m in. Especially for the you-getting-throttled part.”

“You think you’re joking,” said Qibli. “But that sounds pretty much exactly how this might go.”

They swept down to one of the entrances to the town. Which was not even guarded, Qibli noticed indignantly. Clearly standards had fallen since Thorn and her Outclaws left to run the kingdom.

A sense of unease prickled along his scales. In his lifetime, there had always been two worlds in the Scorpion Den: the visible world, which Thorn ran with her ferocious strength and wisdom, and the underworld, which stayed out of her way and kept its more unsavory practices to a minimum as long as she was in charge.

But with her gone to the palace … who was keeping the underworld in check? Was anything keeping it below the surface anymore? Who had risen to take her place?

He had a terrible feeling he could guess exactly who.

They strolled right in the open gate, onto a street lined with stalls, many of which were still closed in the predawn light. Morning scents drifted from those that were open, the smell of roasting beetles and coffee wrestling with the many, many much less pleasant smells in the air.

“This place is the opposite of Queen Glacier’s palace,” Winter murmured, stepping delicately around a dirty SandWing who lay asleep, half in the gutter, his tail wrapped in grimy bandages and his wings tattered and marked with sores.

“The Outclaws wouldn’t have left him like that,” Qibli said.

“Left who?” Winter asked. Qibli squinted at him. He wondered if the IceWing prince even saw the homeless dragons underfoot, or if they just looked like inconvenient grime to him.

“You must have wounded soldiers, too,” Qibli said. “Are they all perfectly taken care of in the Ice Kingdom?”

Winter twitched his nose uncomfortably. “I believe so,” he said. “They’re not in the palace, in any case. And they’re certainly not … well …”

“In the way, like these are,” Qibli mocked him, waving one wing at another huddled figure.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Winter objected. “The Ice Kingdom is very CLEAN, that’s all. We don’t have anywhere like this.” He jumped as a trio of small scuttling creatures darted across the street almost under his talons.

“As far as you know, Queen Glacier’s nephew,” Qibli pointed out.

“That’s true,” Winter said unexpectedly. “You’re right. I didn’t leave the palace much. There could be a lot I never saw.”

Qibli glanced at him sidelong. Maybe Winter had changed, and not only from Darkstalker’s spell. Maybe there was a reasonable, open-minded dragon in there just waiting to burst out.

He wanted to say something about palaces and queen’s nephews and pristine lives — but then, out of the corner of his eye, Qibli caught a glimpse of shadows slinking after them.

“Never mind,” he said, speeding up. He didn’t need to draw any more attention to Winter’s royal status; it was too obvious already. The silvery, immaculate prince stood out like a small iceberg would if it bounced down from the mountains and sailed through the cobblestone streets. The farther in they went, the more shadows seemed to be tailing them, and the more Qibli’s unease grew. Maybe it was a mistake to bring Winter.

Strangers being watched was normal for the Scorpion Den. Being followed wasn’t unusual either; the competition to prey on new visitors was always fierce.

Although I’m not a visitor, and they should recognize me, Qibli thought with a frown.

What felt strange was how long they were followed without any further action. No urchins accidentally rolled a ball under their feet to distract them. No cutpurses bumped against them as they went past. No one even tried to pick a fight to test how they’d react. No one approached them at all — the shadows did nothing but watch, and that was weird for the Scorpion Den.

They wound their way through the dusty streets to a neighborhood that Qibli had avoided for the last two years. Memories assaulted him as they turned each corner. The heavy sweet smell of incense burning. The flies incessantly buzzing the garbage for discarded bits of prey. The brightsting cactus plants bristling in baked clay pots that hung from the windows. The carmine-red scrawls of paint on the stone walls, where rivals marked their territory and young dragonets imitated them boldly.

And then the archway, the black gate standing open, the courtyard beyond, where Qibli’s brother and sister had nearly killed him a hundred times.

He hesitated as they reached the threshold. I don’t have to go in. Grandfather won’t be here. He’d be in his own compound.

But Mother …

After all these years, he’d really thought he didn’t care anymore. But he found his talons taking him forward, straight into the sick, uncomfortable, hopeful, terrified headspace where he’d grown up.

Winter made a scoffing noise deep in his throat as they crossed the run-down courtyard, but Qibli couldn’t stop to react to it. He pushed open the door that led inside and called “Mother?”

“Oh,” said Winter. “You lived … here?” He gave the cracked pavestones a look as though he was even more disappointed in them.

I can’t go inside, Qibli realized with a shudder. I can’t have those walls around me again. The lingering smell of roasted coriander seeds brought back a rush of painful memories.

“Mother?” he called once more.

A heavy, drifting silence answered him, like the silence you’d find far under the dunes in the desert.

She’s all right, he told himself. She’s one of the smartest and deadliest dragons in the Scorpion Den. Who could possibly get close enough to harm her?

Grandfather, of course, but he wouldn’t.

“Mother?” he tried one more time.

“She’s not here,” said a mocking voice behind him.

Winter and Qibli whirled around. Two dragons were perched on the top of the courtyard walls, one on either side of them. Their venomous tails coiled dangerously over the edge beside them, and their matching expressions were malevolently delighted.

“Hello, Sirocco,” Qibli said, steeling his voice to sound calm. “Rattlesnake. Long time no see. You look …” even crueler than you used to … “older. Where is Mother?”

He noticed that in the years since he’d seen them, his brother and sister had acquired dragon-skull tattoos of their own — a trio marching down Sirocco’s neck, five trailing from Rattlesnake’s head like a long morbid earring. There was a small hope that these were only decorative, meant to imitate and flatter Grandfather, but Qibli was fairly sure that they represented exactly the same thing on his siblings as they did on his grandfather.

“Mother don’t want to see you,” said Sirocco in a rough, gravelly voice.

“But Grandfather does,” Rattlesnake announced in a menacing singsong.

“Better come quick and easy,” Sirocco growled. “He don’t like to wait.”

“Or you could put up a fight,” Rattlesnake suggested. “Weeeeeeee don’t mind.” She flicked her forked tongue at Winter. “I like fighting shiny things.”

“Ah, Grandfather,” said Qibli, trying so hard not to feel like he was two years old all over again. Like he was about to be pounded into the dust, and all his cleverness couldn’t save him. He glanced down at his wrists. I have animus friends and magic bracelets. I’m not the same dragon they used to push around. “How’s he doing? Still a barrel of doom on four legs?”

“Come see for yourself,” said Rattlesnake, flicking her tail pointedly at the gate to the alley.

Qibli caught the sideways frown Winter sent his way and shrugged. At least this would get them into Grandfather’s compound, although he couldn’t guarantee they’d ever come out again.

His brother and sister led the way down the street, with Qibli and Winter close behind.

“So where is Mother?” Qibli asked.

“Bit of a long story,” said Sirocco.

“Let’s just say she hasn’t exactly been the same since you abandoned us,” Rattlesnake hissed with a little smile.

“What does that mean?” Qibli asked. His brain went into hyperflight. Mother regrets letting me go. I was right, she did love me after all, swung straight into Don’t get your hopes up; maybe she was furious and has been waiting for me to come back so she can finally let Grandfather kill me, which was bolstered by Where did our shadows go; they must have been tailing us for Grandfather; he knew we were coming shot directly on into How did he know? Did Onyx guess I’d come after Ostrich? Was this all a setup? followed directly by How should I play this? Pretend like I’ve come back to rejoin the family? Surely they wouldn’t believe me for a moment. What’s the most clever way to save Ostrich and get out of this? (And will Mother notice if I’m really clever and then will she realize I’m more interesting than she ever thought I was?)

“You’ll see,” sang Rattlesnake as they turned down an alley that suddenly turned left, then right, then appeared to end in a wall as high as six dragons. Sirocco pushed one of the bricks in, grabbed the revealed handle, and slid open the secret door to Grandfather’s compound.

Thorn had never ventured here, nor sent her Outclaws; as long as Vulture stayed out of her business and let her run the city her way, she stayed away from him. So Thorn had never seen the vast wealth hidden behind that secret door — the sprawling palatial complex, the only marble anywhere near the Scorpion Den, the gold dripping from every surface.

Qibli had seen it a few times when he was younger, when he and his siblings were summoned to family meals on holidays. But it looked more ostentatious now — as if the gold and treasure had been plastered over with another five layers of gold and treasure. Or perhaps his time with Thorn had made him accustomed to more simple tastes. Now when he looked at the emerald-studded doors or the black diamond eyes of all the statues, what he saw was a tremendous waste of wealth that could have been used to make hundreds of dragons’ lives better.

I probably wouldn’t get in trouble with Thorn for stealing from here, he reflected. But if he was caught stealing from his grandfather, the punishment would be certain death.

As they walked through the garishly grandiose decor, Qibli could feel Winter’s disapproval sticking out of him like giant prickly IceWing spikes. He hoped Winter could contain his sarcastic arrogance in front of Grandfather. He hoped he wasn’t leading his friend into a trap. He hoped Vulture wouldn’t dare harm a prince of the IceWings, if revealing that information would save Winter. (Vulture did not need to know he was a disgraced and banished and supposedly dead prince.)

Qibli kept himself alert for any signs of Onyx or Ostrich, but there were none. She has to be here somewhere.

They reached a pavilion where the floor and columns were inlaid with tiny turquoise, gold, and white tiles and the ceiling was covered in mirrors. Qibli could tell from the dragons lurking all around it that his grandfather would be here, even before he spotted Vulture’s long neck, hooked snout, and dark eyes glittering from the dais in the center of the pavilion.

“Let me do all the talking,” he whispered to Winter.

“That is how conversations with you usually work,” Winter observed.

Vulture had added to his collection of dragon skull tattoos, so that by this point he looked rather like a leopard from a distance, pale yellow but stippled all over with black patches. He wore a black cape lined with gold and draped with gold chains all along his wings. His claws were dipped in gold leaf and enormous black-and-gold earrings shaped like spiders gleamed in his ears.

He didn’t look up at Qibli and Winter as they approached. His eyes — and the eyes of the four dragons beside him — were fixed on a small wooden structure set up on the floor in front of him. It looked like a little maze. It was a little maze, Qibli realized, drawing closer. And inside were two scavengers, running in a panic from one dead end to another.

Uh-oh — Winter, don’t react —

Winter drew in a sharp breath, then started forward. Qibli blocked him with his wings, but the noise was enough to make Vulture look up.

“Qibli,” he said with the smuggest of smiles. “Just the dragon I’ve been waiting for.”