It wasn’t a prison, exactly, and it wasn’t a dungeon — it certainly wasn’t an oubliette — but Qibli had never felt more trapped than he did that day, waiting for his mother in his grandfather’s observatory.

It was a beautiful little black marble building, actually, with a dome set up higher than all the other structures in the compound. Diamonds twinkled like stars everywhere, scattered throughout the walls and columns. Moon shapes were carved all around the outside of the building, from crescent to full, outlined with milky pale moonstones.

Inside, the floor was covered with large silk pillows in silver and black and soft dark blue carpets where dragons could lie down to look up at the sky. On two sides of the dome, telescopes pointed at one of the moons, and star charts lined the walls.

Under any other circumstances, Qibli would have adored this place. But here and now he found it unsettling, because he knew it was a re-creation of the old observatory in the SandWing palace — one that hadn’t been used in years, since before the war. Which made him think of how long his grandfather had been alive, and how deeply entwined with the monarchy he had once been. It made him think of Queen Thorn, struggling to put the kingdom back together while a danger like Vulture and Onyx’s conspiracy crept up on her.

And it made him think of Moon, who would love this room — a whole building designed for watching the moons, just like her name. He wished he could re-create it at Jade Mountain so dragons who would actually appreciate it could have access to it. He doubted that anyone used it very often here, where it was more of a status symbol than anything else.

Qibli paced around the perimeter of the dome as the sun crawled slowly across the sky. He could see it crawling if he looked up, because the dome was open at the top, but he refused to look up, because he knew there were six dragons in black hoods sitting up there, staring down at him and Winter.

There was only one message from Turtle, in the middle of the morning, and like all the others, it was breathtakingly uninformative: KINKAJOU, MOON, AND I FOLLOWING DARKSTALKER TO NIGHT KINGDOM. HOPEFULLY BACK AT SCHOOL SOON.

Qibli was in agony, wishing more than ever that he could be in two places at once. How many NightWings had gone with Darkstalker? Which way was the lost city of night? How was Moon; was the spell changing her? Had Tsunami reached them with the earrings and, if so, was Moon wearing one? Why didn’t Turtle mention Tsunami at all? Was Moon safe? What was she doing? What was she thinking? Had it only been a day and a half since he last saw her? Why did it feel like a million years?

He just wanted to be in the same room as her for a moment so he could breathe again. He just wanted to hear her voice and make her laugh and give her his heart; that was all.

He missed her.

His loyalty to Thorn and the Outclaws, his promise to Ostrich’s parents, his ties to this family and what he owed his mother, all of that kept him here.

But he thought of Moon every waking moment.

So does he, he reminded himself, catching sight of Winter’s face. I think. I’m sure he does.

Who is she thinking of?

Probably him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are kind of an exhausting dragon to be around?” Winter asked from one of the silk cushions. “Are you even capable of sitting still?”

“Why is this taking so long?” Qibli asked. “Grandfather said he’d bring Mother and Ostrich to us hours ago. What if one of them is hurt and he doesn’t want us to know? Or what if keeping us trapped here is what he really wants? To get me out of the way while he takes down Thorn?”

“Hmmm, yes,” said Winter, “because before this you were the only thing stopping him. Never mind the other hundred loyal Outclaws or the palace guards or the entire SandWing army she commands.”

“I wonder what the kingdom will think when they find out Onyx is the granddaughter of Queen Oasis,” Qibli said, trailing one wing along the wall. “Dragons love royal bloodlines.”

“And if someone is setting off explosions in the kingdom —” Winter started.

“Someone,” Qibli said with a snort. “Someone is my grandfather.”

Winter blinked and squinted at him. “You think Vulture is the one orchestrating the bombs? I thought he said he was investigating them.”

“Of course,” said Qibli. “Oldest trick in the book. Do something terrible in secret, make it look like your opponent can’t protect their people, then sweep in and ‘protect’ them yourself. The worrying part is that he’ll probably convince a lot of SandWings that we ought to go to war with the MudWings. But I’m sure it wasn’t them, no matter what that strange treasure-lover said.”

He held out his talons and studied Anemone’s weather bracelets. “Maybe I should use these to get us out of here.” Just the thought of wielding such magic made his claws tingle.

“What a well-thought-out plan,” said Winter. “Please do make it rain so we can drown in here.”

“Maybe a really big storm would be distracting,” Qibli said. He flexed his talons optimistically.

“No, it would just be wet,” Winter said. “I know you’re excited about your magic toys, but try not to be absurd. Save them for when they can actually be useful.”

The whoosh of wings made them both look up. Two dragons descended into the dome: Vulture and, right behind him, the long, thin shape of Qibli’s mother.

Qibli caught his breath. Cobra was as beautiful and deadly looking as she’d been the day he left her. The oubliette hadn’t taken away the dangerous glitter in her eyes.

But maybe it had changed the expression on her face when she looked at him. Maybe he was imagining things, but she looked a tiny bit less out of my way, bug who needs squashing and a tiny bit more that’s MY dragonet.

The two dragons touched down on the floor and Cobra paced toward Qibli, flicking her tail barb slowly back and forth.

“You’ve finally come back to us,” she said. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry — if I’d known you were being punished like that —” Qibli said. He hesitated. “Were you? This whole time? Because of me?”

“Because of her own mistake,” said Vulture. “She knew I wanted heirs to my organization. I told her not to kill off or get rid of any of you. She knew there would be consequences to letting Thorn have you — of all dragons, that upstart nobody!”

Cobra nodded. “Yes. My mistake,” she echoed.

Qibli’s mind was reeling. He’d always thought Cobra was keeping them alive despite his grandfather’s wishes — not because of them. His understanding of his own childhood wavered in front of him like a mirage in the desert.

“I’ll go get the other one,” Vulture said. “Give you two a chance to catch up.” He took off into the sky again.

Cobra backed Qibli into the sunshine in the center of the dome and started examining him from horns to tail, as if he were a rented caravan and she was checking to see whether Thorn had damaged him.

“Hmm,” she said, tapping the scar on his snout. “Clumsiness or war wound?”

“You gave that to me,” he reminded her.

“Oh,” she said skeptically. She tipped his head up and studied his eyes. “Well, you seem a bit stronger. Perhaps you’ll be useful to your grandfather — maybe even more useful than you would have been if I’d kept you. Depending on how much you’ve stored in here.” She tapped his skull once, then started brushing sand off his shoulders.

“There, that’s a bit better.” Cobra’s gaze shifted to Winter. “Couldn’t you have bathed before coming? You look a bit shabby next to this shiny creature.”

I’m sure I do, Qibli thought, a thought that would not have bothered him anywhere else in the world, but here, under his mother’s eyes, he felt keenly how unshiny he was, and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that Moon must see them the same way.

“Never mind,” said Cobra, spreading one of her wings around him. Her breath smelled of coriander, just like it used to. “I’m glad you’ve returned.”

Qibli’s mother had never put a wing around him before. Brushing the sand off him; that was familiar — she’d done it every time Grandfather came to inspect them. But this light, protective touch came from nowhere.

Qibli couldn’t stop himself from thinking, She did miss me. She does love me. And his talons felt as awkward and his heart as confused as if he were three years old all over again.

“Introduce me to your glittering companion,” Cobra suggested.

“That’s Winter,” Qibli said, flicking his tail toward the IceWing. “I keep trying to get rid of him, but he follows me everywhere. Like that monkey who followed me home one day, remember?” He hesitated, remembering that he’d wanted to keep the monkey for a pet, but Cobra had decided to eat it instead.

Stay in the present. Don’t get sucked into the past. He forced himself to focus on Winter, like a tether in a sandstorm that could lead him back to his true self. “It’s pretty adorable. He’s my biggest fan.”

“Ha!” Winter barked. “Indeed! Ha ha ha! Don’t believe a word he says! I can’t stand him!”

“We’ll probably end up married one day,” Qibli said.

The only reply Winter made to this was a snort so vigorous he nearly knocked himself over.

Cobra arched her eyebrows. “Well, that would get your grandfather’s attention,” she said. “Marrying an IceWing.”

She tapped her claws together, looking thoughtful, then added, “He’s always been interested in a business alliance with that tribe.”

Qibli blinked up at his mother. Is she really taking me seriously? Or is she pretending to, for some reason? Or is she only making conversation while she actually thinks about something else, like being trapped in Grandfather’s prison for years? Or does she truly mean it, that marrying an IceWing could be seen as advantageous to the family?

That wasn’t the family Qibli remembered, with their fierce hostility to other tribes, but maybe things had changed. Maybe the peace had turned the other tribes from enemies into potential pots of gold.

“Are you going to help your grandfather?” Cobra asked abruptly, looking Qibli in the eyes.

He looked away first. “I can’t. He wants to know all of Thorn’s secrets, and I would never — I’m not that kind of dragon.”

“I told him that,” Cobra said. “I said you wouldn’t … even for me. Even if it meant … well, it’s not important.”

“I’ll find another way to help you,” Qibli insisted. “Thorn will send her army to get you out of here, if I ask her to. I’m sure she will.”

“I have a better idea,” Cobra whispered. “You take me with you. We escape. Tonight.”

Qibli studied her face, then looked up at the hulking shapes of the guards above them. “How?” he whispered back.

“I’m an assassin, remember? Between the two of us, I think we can outsmart my father.”

Qibli thought for a minute, a billion thoughts cascading over one another. “All right.” He stepped back from her. “But we’re taking Ostrich, too.”

Cobra’s eyes narrowed to slits, but she nodded. “Shh,” she said. “Here they come.”

She was right; Vulture was descending again, this time with two other dragons: the rangy, black-diamond-studded form of Onyx, and beside her, tiny Ostrich.

“Qibli!” Ostrich cried. She flew across the dome to throw herself at him and he caught her, beaming. She was all right; she was uninjured. He hadn’t failed Six-Claws and Kindle completely.

“Hey,” he said, hugging her. “You had me kind of worried.”

“Well, Onyx told me that Queen Thorn had sent her a message asking for us, and I thought, whoa, that’s kind of awesome, but guess what, that turned out to be a LIE, Qibli! She was LYING to me! Why would she DO that?” Ostrich shot Onyx a resentful look. “And we were halfway to the palace when suddenly THIS guy showed up with, like, EIGHTY creepy dragons in hoods and they bossed us all here instead, although I was pretty sure Thorn wouldn’t be here, and I was right, and then they said I couldn’t leave, and finally I realized Onyx was actually WORKING with them, and then I was, like, ARRRGH NOOO, I’m a stupid HOSTAGE again, aren’t I?”

She seized his front talons. “Qibli, I don’t like being a hostage. Can we stab all these dragons in the face so no one will ever think I’d make a good hostage, like, ever again? And then maybe I need to eat all the camels in Pyrrhia to get really huge; I bet that would help, too. Super-Huge Ostrich: Worst Hostage Ever. That is the look I would like to go for, please.”

“We can definitely work on that,” Qibli promised. “But you’re all right?”

“Outraged but intact,” Ostrich said proudly, and he could tell she’d been putting on a brave face, and that she’d been more scared than she’d ever admit, but that she was prepared to be strong and he could count on her.

“Delightful,” Vulture interjected. “Now you have what you want. Let’s discuss what I want.”

“You mean what I want,” Onyx said coldly. “The throne.”

“Why don’t you challenge Queen Thorn?” Qibli asked her. “If you’re so sure the throne should be yours?”

“That was my original plan,” said Onyx, shooting a glare at Vulture. “But someone told me I’d never make it all the way into the palace to issue my challenge. Someone convinced me my plan would work better if we delayed long enough to spread a bunch of rumors first. Someone thought it would be a great idea for me to go hide myself away at that idiotic pacifist school so I could find out more about the queen’s daughter.”

“Thorn’s daughter? Sunny?” said Ostrich.

Something was happening outside. Qibli pricked his ears toward the roof of the dome. Some kind of commotion in the garden. One of the hooded guards flew off, probably to see what it was. Vulture had his head tilted toward the sky as well; his eyes met Qibli’s and he grinned, as if to say, See how alike we are? The only dragons who notice everything?

“I thought she’d be another contender for the throne,” Onyx went on, still talking about Sunny. She rolled her eyes and let out a small snort of flame. “But I’ve never met a less ambitious dragon. No interest in killing her mother at all. And so busy with that dratted school — I could never get close enough to learn anything useful.

“Finally I decided I’d had enough. The chaos of that giant NightWing arriving distracted everyone long enough for me to kidnap this little idiot, who would have been perfect leverage to get me through the gates and past her general father so I could kill Thorn in her sleep. But no. Apparently I have to wait again for some other convoluted plan to take shape.”

“I know you’re getting impatient,” Vulture said soothingly. “But successful plans take a little time.”

There was a crash and some muffled shouting outside. Now everyone looked up at the sky.

“What is it?” Vulture barked at the hooded figures.

“Someone tryin’ to see you, sir,” answered one of the Talons. “Won’t take no for an answer. Already got a bit of ’is tail blown off charging the wall, but still comin’ strong, bleedin’ and everythin’.”

“Great snakes,” said Vulture calmly. “If he’s that intent, let’s have a look at him.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said, ducking her head. She flew away and returned a few moments later, escorting a dragon along with three other Talons. Two of them had their hoods torn and tossed back, and the third had a long scratch on his side, but the newcomer was in far worse shape: bleeding from several wounds and with his tail ending in a bloody stump instead of a SandWing barb.

“Sir!” he cried as soon as he saw Vulture. “I have an urgent message for you! I’m not allowed to stop or rest or do anything else until I give it to you!” He collapsed on the marble floor as the guards dropped him in front of Vulture.

“Intriguing,” said Vulture. “Go on.”

“There’s a new king of the NightWings,” the dragon gasped, letting words spill out breathlessly. “A giant dragon, the biggest you’ve ever seen. He caught us in the rainforest and took the other four prisoner. But he sent me back to tell you it’s not the right time to kill Queen Glory. He said he knows about your plan to replace Thorn and he’ll help you if you help him. He said he’ll be in touch soon and not to do anything until he sends instructions.”

The last sentence whooshed out of the dragon in one garbled rush, and then at last he took a breath and closed his eyes and fell, unconscious, at Vulture’s feet.

Qibli whirled toward Winter. This was proof! Proof that Darkstalker was working against their allies — that he couldn’t be trusted. Surely Winter had to see him as he was now.

But the IceWing prince looked unaffected. He was watching Vulture with a politely curious expression, but he certainly didn’t look as though an enormous revelation had just been dropped on his head.

Vulture, on the other talon, absolutely did. He stared down at the messenger, his tail lashing so his cloak shifted from side to side, rustling along the floor.

“A new … king of the NightWings?” he enunciated slowly.

“Must be that big guy I told you about,” Onyx said with a shrug.

“But … king?” Vulture said again. “The NightWings agreed to this? Queen Glory just … handed them over? To a king?”

“Why would she want them?” Onyx demanded. “Bunch of lying grumblers. I’d give them away, too. Focus on my own tribe.”

“Your tribe …” Vulture mused, and in a flash of insight, Qibli guessed what he was thinking.

If one tribe can have a king, why not another?

Why be the power behind the throne, when one could be the power on the throne?

Why bother installing Onyx … if perhaps the time has come for a SandWing king at last?

This was bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. Vulture scheming behind the scenes was terrible enough; Vulture openly trying to seize the throne for himself would be a new kind of threat to Queen Thorn. Especially if he was collaborating with Darkstalker to make it happen.

Qibli felt sick. With Darkstalker’s magic, they could kill Thorn anytime, from anywhere, with barely a thought.

I have to get to her. I have to take her an earring, right now; I can’t wait another moment.

“I’ll take your gift to Queen Thorn,” he blurted. “Like you wanted me to. Whatever it is. I’ll take it today, if you let Ostrich and Cobra come with me.”

Vulture gave him a sideways smile, a smile that said I see you seeing me. “Oh, but that’s not all I want,” he said. “Remember? You’re going to tell me all of Thorn’s secrets first. Passwords. Secret stores of treasure. Closest allies. How to kill them all.”

Ostrich gasped and shoved Qibli’s shoulder. “You’re not! You wouldn’t!”

Vulture slid a blank scroll out of one of the racks under the star charts and unrolled it on the floor in front of Qibli. He weighed down the corners with pillows and a little ink pot. “You may get started now,” he said. “Take your time. Apparently I’m waiting for … instructions.” He made a little face at that word, just a small one, but Qibli noticed it and it gave him a tiny spark of hope that Darkstalker and Vulture wouldn’t be the perfect collaborators they might think they would be.

“We could use that big NightWing’s help,” Onyx mused. “I mean, he’s got magic. He can read minds. See the future. Useful stuff, if it’s on our side.”

“Indeed,” Vulture said, spreading one wing toward the open dome. “Let’s go discuss exactly how useful.”

His Talons scooped up the unconscious messenger and they departed, leaving Qibli with Ostrich, Cobra, and Winter. And the five guards still watching us, he remembered.

“Don’t you even think about it, Qibli,” Ostrich threatened, baring her teeth at him. “I will stop you. I will burn that scroll to ashes! Rawr!” A small burst of flames shot out of her mouth, setting one of the carpets on fire. Winter leaned over and exhaled frostbreath all over it to put it out.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Winter said to Qibli. “In the hopes that we’ll only be here a short while longer.”

“Good idea,” Qibli said, nudging one of the blue cushions toward him. Winter dragged it into a far corner and stretched out across it. Soon his spikes were rattling softly as his chest rose and fell.

“I’m not going to tell Vulture anything,” Qibli promised Ostrich quietly. “But if I don’t do this, we need another way out of here.”

“Pretend to start writing.” Cobra brushed past him. “I’ll look for weapons.”

Ostrich’s eyes lit up. “I have one!” she whispered. She huddled into Qibli’s side, pretending to read what he was writing, and flicked her tail around to reveal that she’d been keeping her tail barb bent down, concealing something in the small fold. As she slipped it out, Qibli saw a thin line of blood where it had scratched her.

“I stole this from my guard,” she hissed softly. She hid it quickly under a pillow and slid it over to Qibli.

It was a small round disk with a bladed edge around the outside, sharp and sinister-looking. Qibli had seen these in the market, in his mother’s armory, and among the Outclaws, but he’d rarely practiced with any himself.

“A chakram,” Cobra whispered, leaning over Qibli’s shoulder. “Be more specific here,” she said loudly, for the guards’ benefit, pointing to a spot on the scroll while she palmed the disk. “Your grandfather will want to know exactly how many advisors attend the queen’s morning meeting.”

Qibli glanced down at the scroll, where he had been filling space by writing: There are lots of loyal Outclaws. So many loyal Outclaws. Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of dragons who think Queen Thorn is awesome because she is.

“I can take out one of the guards with this,” Cobra whispered, “but that leaves the other four.”

“I can make more chakrams if you distract the Talons,” Qibli offered. He took the pieces of Turtle’s bowl out of his bag, concealing them under one of the pillows, and slotted them together, then nodded at his mother.

“Has your handwriting gotten worse since you were a dragonet?” she spat, sounding scarily like the mother he remembered. She snatched the scroll out of his talons (dropping the chakram in the bowl as she did) and stormed around, glaring at it, until she was blocking him from view of the guards. “And your spelling is atrocious. What self-respecting SandWing can’t spell Capybara? I swear you’ve gotten stupider since I sold you.”

Qibli knew she was making a scene and didn’t mean any of it. But it was still hard to quash the urge to defend himself (I wasn’t trying to write capybara! My spelling is fine! Other dragons know what I mean!).

He leaned over the chakram in the bowl and whispered, “Twice as much, please. Twice as much, please. Twice as much, please.” Eight scary-looking disks glittered in the bowl.

Ostrich goggled at the multiplying disks in the bowl, then up at Qibli.

“How did you do that?” she breathed, awestruck. “Are you magic?”

He shook his head ruefully. “Not me,” he said. “Someone else.” He checked the slate again, while he had a moment. Still blank. What was Turtle doing? Had something terrible happened to him? Or had he forgotten about Qibli, waiting anxiously for any news?

Ostrich tented one of her wings out a bit so Qibli could hide the bowl of weapons underneath.

“Try harder,” Cobra spat, flinging the scroll down in front of Qibli again. “Remember your grandfather has very high standards. He wants every detail. Spelled CORRECTLY.” She sat down behind Qibli again, every inch the looming, grammar-correcting mother the guards might expect to see.

“Most impressive,” she whispered when Ostrich tipped her wing to reveal the chakrams. “Now we just wait for dark … and then, we escape.”