CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
PROLOGUE
PRISONERS
EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT FROM WINGS OF FIRE BOOK SEVEN: WINTER TURNING
ALSO AVAILABLE
COPYRIGHT
Note: Contains spoilers for Wings of Fire Book Five: The Brightest Night
This is Pyrrhia, where there are seven dragon tribes.
There were seven queens.
Then came a great war, a prophecy, a volcano … and after the War of SandWing Succession was over, a shift in the balance of power.
Not everyone approves of the new SandWing queen.
In fact, the only topic more controversial is the new queen of the NightWings.
Can they hold on to their thrones?
Should they?
In the dungeon of the SandWing stronghold, two prisoners await … what? A trial? Imminent execution?
They’re not exactly sure.
They are NightWings, but they cannot go back to their tribe. They are in exile; they are too dangerous to be allowed to return. And yet: too complicated to be killed. (They hope.)
So they wait, and scheme (well, one of them schemes. The other one is catching up on sleeping and eating). And they wonder what will happen to them.
All they want is access to the most dangerous weapon of all: a chance to tell their own story.
They are prisoners.
But perhaps that is about to change.
For the guard with the scar over her heart:
I’ve been watching you. You’re not like the other guards — the bowing, scraping, mindlessly loyal lizards who live for your queen. You have your own thoughts, don’t you? You’re smarter than the average SandWing. And I think I know your secret.
Let’s talk about it.
Third cell down, the one with two NightWings in it. I’m the one who doesn’t snore.
I HAVE NO INTEREST IN DISCUSSING ANYTHING WITH A NIGHTWING PRISONER.
WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO LET YOU HAVE PAPER AND INK?
You should be interested. You’re going to need allies for what you’re planning … and when I get out of here, I’m going to be a very useful ally indeed.
AMUSING ASSUMPTIONS. MY QUEEN BELIEVES YOU’RE GOING TO BE IN HERE FOR A LONG, LONG TIME.
True … but she also believes she’s going to be queen for a long, long time … doesn’t she.
An interesting silence after my last note. Perhaps it would reassure you to know I set your notes on fire as soon as I’ve read them. You can tell me anything, my new, venomous-tailed friend. Believe me, NightWings are exceptionally skilled at keeping secrets.
WE ARE NOT FRIENDS.
I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT YOU, OTHER THAN WHAT IT SAYS IN YOUR PRISONER FILE.
FIERCETEETH: TRAITOR. KIDNAPPER. RINGLEADER OF ASSASSINATION PLOT.
TO BE HELD INDEFINITELY WITH FELLOW TRAITOR STRONGWINGS, ON BEHALF OF THE NIGHTWING QUEEN.
OH YES, CERTAINLY SOUNDS LIKE A DRAGON ANYONE CAN TRUST.
She’s not my queen. You can’t be a traitor to someone who shouldn’t be ruling over you in the first place.
Which might be a thought you’ve had lately yourself, isn’t it? I know some things about you, even without a file.
Saguaro: Prison guard. Schemer. Connected to great secret plans.
We’re not so different, you and I. Particularly when it comes to trustworthiness.
Just think, if my alleged “assassination plot” had worked, the NightWings would have a different queen right now. Perhaps it would even be me.
Well, if at first you don’t succeed …
I could tell you my story, if you get me more paper to write on.
Or you could stop by one midnight and listen to it instead. But I’ve noticed you don’t like spending too much time in the dungeon. Is it the tip-tap of little scorpion claws scrabbling everywhere? The stench rising from the holes in the floor? The gibbering mad SandWing a few cages down who never shuts up, all night long? (What is her story? Has she really been here since the rule of Queen Oasis?)
Or is it that you can too easily picture yourself behind these bars … and you know how close you are to joining us?
ALL RIGHT, NIGHTWING, HERE’S A BLANK SCROLL. GO AHEAD AND TRY TO CONVINCE ME THAT YOU’RE A DRAGON WHO EVEN DESERVES TO LIVE, LET ALONE ONE I SHOULD WASTE MY TIME ON.
I DO ENJOY BEING AMUSED.
THE DRAGONET WITH NO DESTINY
(According to Certain Other Idiots, not According to Her)
I hatched on an island of smoke and fire, under a volcano that breathed death all day and hid the stars and the three moons at night.
My tribe was dying. There were fewer eggs every year, and even fewer of those survived to become dragonets, and all of those were starving, along with everyone else.
NightWings keep their secrets well. None of the other tribes suspected what was happening to us. None of them even knew where we lived.
But they knew about our powers of mind reading and seeing the future.
And that was what was going to save us.
A prophecy. THE prophecy.
That stupid, claw-scraping, moonsbegotten prophecy.
Every dragon on Pyrrhia probably knows it by heart (unless you’re an ignorant RainWing). Or at least they’ve heard the important verse: “Five eggs to hatch on brightest night, five dragons born to end the fight. Darkness will rise to bring the light. The dragonets are coming….”
And everyone knows it’s about five ever-so-special dragons who were destined to stop the war and save the world. If you’ve met them, though, you might have noticed that they’re not all THAT special. They’re kind of sappy and disappointing, don’t you think? Especially the NightWing. He’s a walking tragedy.
You know why?
Because it should have been me. I would have been perfect for the prophecy. I would be brilliant at saving the world. I would also have been brilliant at leading the other dragonets, proving that NightWings are the best tribe, and making sure things happened exactly as we wanted them to.
Just one problem: I didn’t hatch on the brightest night.
I hatched two years too early.
STUPID SNIVELING MOONS IN THE WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME.
And so you know who got to be the all-special chosen NightWing instead? My little brother. HOW UNFAIR IS THAT?
I was even there when his magical destiny landed on him. I was standing right next to his annoying egg in our hatchery, talking to our mother. Her black scales gleamed in the firelight as she curled around it, brushing the eggshell lightly with her claws.
“Take me hunting,” I wheedled. I don’t wheedle anymore, just for the record. “Please? I need help. I keep losing my prey after I bite it, and I think other dragons are eating it before I find it again.”
So we’re clear, I didn’t really need help. I mean, I was as hungry as everyone, but I can take care of myself. What I wanted was for Mother to stop being drippy and boring and for her to leave that egg alone for even half a second.
“I can’t, little one.” Mother sighed one of her long, scale-rippling sighs that made her tail flop over. “What if something happens to my egg while I’m gone? It’s so close to hatching now.”
“What could happen?” I demanded. “Do you think it’s going to roll away? Sprout wings and fly off the island? Turn blue and pop out a SeaWing instead? It’ll be fine, and you staring at it all the time isn’t going to make any difference.”
She fixed her black eyes on it as if to prove me wrong. “This might be the only time I get to spend with it,” she whispered. “The brightest night is coming …”
“Blah blah BLAH!” I shouted. “This might be the only time you get with me, too! I could get exploded by a volcano tomorrow!”
She winced. “That’
s not going to happen,” she said. “Mastermind says we have a few more years before another explosion is due.”
“HA,” I said. “I bet I get blown up before you take me to the mainland. Remember all those promises you made? Or I should say, all those lies you told me?”
“Fierceteeth, you’re only two years old,” she said. “You’ll get to the mainland one day. And when your little sibling hatches we’ll have plenty of time together as a family.”
“YUCK!” I shouted. “That doesn’t count! I don’t want a drooling dragonet following us around!”
No one else I knew had to put up with this — this competition for their parents’ attention. Yes, yes, it was unusual, Mother was special, let’s all clasp our talons and coo in awe.
Here’s why: Most NightWings don’t have two eggs. Thanks to our horrible death trap island home, most NightWings haven’t been able to have even one egg in the last … I’m not sure, but it’s been a really long time. My friend Mightyclaws is the only other dragonet I know with a sibling right now’.
But I didn’t see why Mother needed another egg when she had me. It should have been exciting enough that I was hatched. I mean, it used to be.
And then suddenly she was all “EEEE, another egg is coming, life is SOOOO wonderful” and wasn’t she proud of herself and obsessed with it. It was like she completely forgot about her first perfectly wonderful egg and the perfectly wonderful dragonet that came out of it.
I think it was stupid Morrowseer’s fault. (If you don’t know who he is, count yourself lucky.) He was losing his mind around then, yelling at everyone all the time; you did not want to stand between him and any lava, just in case. See, Morrowseer was trying to make sure someone had eggs that would hatch at least near the brightest night. He really wanted some choices for his glorious prophecy.
Instead, he got only one egg with the right timing. One blah little egg that was the center of Mother’s universe.
So Mother had just told me no, she couldn’t leave her precious boring second egg to take me hunting, and I was sitting there glaring at it and wondering who I could trick into cracking it for me. It was small for a dragon egg, and black, the color of our scales, so it basically looked like an extra lump sticking off Mother’s tail.
And then we heard the THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of grumpy talons stomping our way, and in comes gigantic Morrowseer, all frowning and portentous as usual.
“I’ve come for your egg, Farsight,” he said to Mother. That’s Morrowseer — not exactly a “good morning, how are you, nice grim sulfur-smelling weather we’re having” kind of dragon. But then, neither am I, so I can respect that.
Mother clutched the egg closer to her. “Mine?” she said. “Are you sure?”
Morrowseer waved his wings impatiently at the nearly empty hatchery. “Do you see a hundred other options somewhere?” he barked. He jabbed one claw toward the only other egg in the cave. “That one isn’t due to hatch until after the brightest night. Yours is it. Congratulations, you’re the mother of a prophesized dragonet. Now hand over that egg.”
“But … right now? Won’t I get to meet my dragonet?” Farsight asked. “Can’t we let the egg hatch here and give it to the Talons of Peace later? She could grow up with us, and then we could send her to the continent in a few years. Wouldn’t that be better, to raise her like a real NightWing?”
(Mother was doing that dragon thing of assuming her special perfect egg had a female dragonet inside. WRONG.)
Morrowseer snorted. “Unnecessary. Our genetic superiority will manifest wherever this dragonet hatches and however it is raised. And the Talons need to think they’re in charge of the dragonets, at least for now.”
Mother looked down at the obsidian black egg between her talons. “Will my dragonet ever come back?” she asked.
“Listen, you’re not the mother I would have chosen either,” Morrowseer snapped. “I’d have picked someone who knew who the father was, for one thing.” (Note: It wasn’t MY father. My father died before I hatched, according to Mother. Starflight’s father was someone else, but Farsight either couldn’t or wouldn’t say who.)
Morrowseer went on: “It should have been someone with more backbone and less fluff between her ears. Like Secretkeeper; she’s got a sensible head on her shoulders and she’d hand over her dragonet for a prophecy in a heartbeat. But she hasn’t got a dragonet, and you do, so do your duty and give it to me.” He lowered his voice to a growl. “For the sake of the tribe’s survival, Farsight.”
I didn’t quite understand all that back then, of course. NightWing secrets are handed out bit by bit to dragonets as we get older. I’d heard of the Talons of Peace, but all I knew was that they were an underground movement trying to end the War of SandWing Succession.
But here’s what I did understand: Morrowseer was taking that egg someplace far away from the island. The dragonet in that egg was going to grow up in a world with proper trees and sky and plenty to eat. The Talons of Peace would treat it like a queen, and one day it would save the entire NightWing tribe.
“You could take me instead,” I blurted. “I can fulfill the prophecy! I don’t have any fluff between my ears!”
Morrowseer barely glanced at me. “You’re much too old,” he sniffed.
“So send me out later and lie about my age,” I suggested. “How would anyone know when I was hatched? I’m scrawny enough. A year from now I bet I could pass for a one-year-old.”
“Fierceteeth, stop,” my mother whispered.
“She’s bold,” Morrowseer said, flicking his gaze over me for a moment longer. “Boldness is useful. Idiocy, however, is not.” He reached out and snatched the egg from Mother’s claws. She let it go without protesting any more, although she gave it the most soppy, cow-eyed, woeful look you’ve ever seen. It made me want to claw her snout right off.
“Thank you for your service to the tribe,” Morrowseer snarled at her. He turned to stomp away.
“Think about my offer!” I called after him. “Bad things happen to little dragonets all the time! If you need a backup prophecy dragon, I’ll be right here!”
He paused in the cave entrance, a shudder rippling down his spine. For a long moment he didn’t move, and then he turned his head slightly, just far enough to give the last remaining egg a dark, thoughtful look. And then off he went, with the egg that turned out to contain my brother, Starflight, the least bold and most idiotic NightWing who has ever hatched in the history of Pyrrhia.
Was I thrilled that my competition was gone? Did I welcome my mother back with open wings, ready to be her precious beloved one and only again?
I most certainly did not. I wasn’t going to be duped anymore. Now I knew how easily she could drop me. I’d seen how shallow her loyalty ran.
Maybe if she had begged my forgiveness …
But she didn’t. Instead she MOPED for AGES and it was SO BORING, you have no idea.
So I spent my time and energy on Morrowseer instead. He was the one with useful connections. He was the one who could get me to the continent and maybe into that prophecy, once he realized how completely NightWing I am.
(That’s another word for awesome, if you’re slow on the uptake, SandWing.)
I followed him around the fortress. I showed up whenever he was lecturing, even if it wasn’t to my class. I happened to be around whenever he needed a message sent to someone. I “accidentally” ran into him in the island’s small patch of forest and “coincidentally” drove prey in his direction.
In my head, I sometimes pretended he was my father.
But did all that work make him like me even one tiny bit?
Not as far as I could tell.
And did he ever send me to the mainland?
NOT ONCE.
Technically, NightWing dragonets aren’t allowed off the island until they are ten. Apparently we need ten years of training in how to keep the tribe’s secrets first.
But I was GREAT at keeping secrets, and if my dopey BROTHER could be on the mainl
and all that time, I didn’t see why I couldn’t at least visit it. Especially once the tunnel to the rainforest was built. It would have been so easy to let me hop through some night when no one was around. I just wanted to breathe real air and see the stars for a minute. That didn’t seem like too much to ask — and I did ask, over and over again, until Morrowseer called me a pest and banished me to the dragonet dormitory.
My point is that I grew up in the most terrible place in Pyrrhia, but it made me strong. This dungeon is nothing in comparison. Here, we get to eat every day and your queen even lets us out to stretch our wings more frequently than I can believe.
But I deserve to be free. Everything I did, all my so-called “crimes,” were for the good of my fellow NightWings. I was trying to find us an ally who would restore our power. I was trying to save us from being controlled by another tribe. I was trying to make sure we had a real home of our own!
And if I had succeeded, I’d be the hero right now, instead of those bleeding heart “dragonets of destiny.”
I deserve to be part of my tribe again, and they deserve a queen who cares about them and understands what they’ve suffered — not the teeth-grinding mistake they have now.
I believe in the separation of the tribes and the importance of maintaining the royal bloodlines, if possible. I suspect you do, too.
One way or another, I’m getting out of here. If you help me, you’ll gain a determined ally who can help you get what you want.
If you don’t, you’ll be just another guard I have to kill on my way out.
— Fierceteeth
I SEE. QUITE A TRAGIC TALE.
WHAT ABOUT YOUR FELLOW PRISONER? THE ACCESSORY TO YOUR CRIMES?
IS HE A MISUNDERSTOOD HERO AS WELL? IS HE NECESSARY TO YOUR AMBITIOUS PLANS, OR DO YOU INTEND TO LEAVE HIM HERE TO DESSICATE?
BRAINS AND THE BEAST
Strongwings is coming with me wherever I go. Forever. That’s non-negotiable.
I don’t care if no one understands why he’s mine. It’s my heart; I can stick whomever I want in there.