The magic came once the tree was finished. The animus touch gave the tree a kind of eternal life and, most important, the moon globes that grew on it all year round.
To Winter’s surprise, Hailstorm went to the tree and picked a globe right away, like most dragons did when they first arrived at the palace. Did that mean his instincts were kicking in? The globe floated quietly over his left shoulder, casting pale light that accentuated the shadows between his horns.
Winter followed, choosing a light of his own and releasing it over his own shoulder. A small bud appeared instantly in its place on the branch, where a new moon globe would grow within a day or two.
He turned and realized that everyone in the courtyard was staring at them. He hadn’t even noticed the quiet murmur of conversation in the air until it abruptly stopped.
Nine IceWings watched in silence as Hailstorm and Winter walked under the tree and down the long path to the wall of rankings. Standing in front of the rankings, watching them approach with a cold, unreadable expression, was their father, Narwhal.
Winter didn’t wait for Hailstorm to bow first; whatever their respective ranking was in whoever’s mind, he couldn’t face his father’s gaze anymore. He dropped into a crouch, spread his wings, and bowed his head. The wet snow crept between his scales, comforting and chilling at the same time.
Beside him, more slowly, Hailstorm did the same.
In the long silence that followed, Winter imagined he could hear glaciers moving, the world spinning, the stars weeping softly.
What is Father thinking? He didn’t dare look up. He knew Narwhal’s expression wouldn’t hold any clues anyway.
“Ssso,” Narwhal finally hissed, in a voice that could slice an iceberg in half. “My two sons have returned to me. One I thought could never come back — the other I hoped never would.”
Winter lifted his eyes, shocked into meeting Narwhal’s gaze. Behind his father, the seven circles of dragonet rankings blazed like comets against a dark sky. This wall was the gift of order, where every dragon in the aristocracy was listed. Their names were all carved into the ice, but enchanted so that the queen and her chosen advisors could slide them around like beads on an abacus. Every dragonet that hatched appeared here as soon as he or she was given a name. Every night the queen considered the current standings and changed them according to the rules and her own judgment.
Winter spotted his name right away.
In dead last, at the bottom of the Seventh Circle, was Icicle’s name. And one step above her — second-to-last, lower than all the new-hatched dragonets on the list, lower than any royal had ever been before, was Winter.
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 th
an 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.