Fatespeaker sucked in an astonished breath.
“Well, I never — are you sure?” His father’s wings flared. He looked equal parts alarmed and enthralled. “That changes things entirely! A variable I hadn’t considered! You’ll have to tell me all about it. What prompted the attack, what it looked like, how long it took the victims to die, whether there was any time to fight back —”
Starflight realized, too late, that he shouldn’t have said anything. If this information got back to the council, they’d know how dangerous Glory was. He had to hope that Mastermind was too wrapped up in his experiments to tell anyone.
“My, my, my.” Mastermind headed toward the next door. “Well, knowing the venom only worked on certain substances led us to the next project: constructing armor that could withstand a RainWing attack, if necessary.”
“But it isn’t necessary,” Fatespeaker chimed in. “RainWings don’t attack other dragons. Everyone knows that.” She looked at Starflight. “Well … they’re not supposed to.”
“Even a RainWing will defend herself sometimes,” Starflight said.
“Hmm. Not often, in my experience,” said Mastermind. “But why don’t you stand back just in case.” He waved them a few steps away, settled his helmet over his head again, and flung open the door.
Inside, a dragon was pinned to the wall.
Starflight was lucky his stomach was empty; it heaved perilously, and he had to cover his eyes and take a few deep breaths before he could speak again.
The RainWing was the sad gray color of the chains that had bound Starflight in the Sky Kingdom, the first time he’d been separated from Sunny. She drooped against the wall, her wings outstretched and secured in place. When he was able to look again, he saw that what he’d thought were pins were actually clamps, holding her where she was, but not going straight through her wings as he’d first thought.
Not that anything about this is all right.
“What are you doing to her?” Fatespeaker cried. She bolted into the room and lifted the RainWing’s snout gently in her talons. The trapped dragon barely responded.
“This one is done for the day,” Mastermind said. “We were testing to see whether they run out of venom at some point, if they shoot it for long enough, but she fainted before we could get any really useful data.”
“She needs water,” Fatespeaker said, glancing around the room, then looking straight at Starflight.
He hesitated, remembering Fjord and Crocodile again. If this dragon did suddenly spray venom at them, he wouldn’t blame her — but he didn’t want to be in the way when it happened.
“Starflight,” Fatespeaker said, and the tone of her voice reminded him again so much of Sunny that he couldn’t say no to her.
“I’ll get some.” He flew to one of the pipes on the desalinization machine, where he’d seen a faucet earlier, found an empty cauldron that smelled clean, and filled it up.
Fatespeaker had one of the prisoner’s wings unclamped by the time Starflight got back. Mastermind stood in the doorway, watching through the holes in his helmet but neither interfering nor helping. It was hard to know what he was thinking with his face completely hidden.
Starflight brushed past him and set the cauldron down, then unclamped the dragon’s other wing. She slumped forward so suddenly that both Fatespeaker and Starflight were nearly knocked over, but they managed to catch her and lean her wings over their shoulders. Fatespeaker held the cauldron up and the RainWing revived enough to drink a little.
“What’s your name?” Starflight asked her.
She coughed and looked sideways at him. “No NightWing has ever asked my name before,” she whispered hoarsely. “It’s Orchid.”
“Oh!” Starflight gasped, then closed his mouth quickly and glanced at the door.
Mastermind was leaning into the hallway, yelling, “Strongwings! Strongwings, you blockhead, get up here!”
“Mangrove is looking for you,” Starflight whispered hurriedly. “He hasn’t given up. He’ll be here to rescue you soon.”
Fatespeaker stared at him as if he’d just peeled off his scales and revealed a hippo underneath. But Orchid lifted her head, her eyes flooding with hope. A shimmering rose pink spread over her, starting on her chest and drifting out to her wingtips.
“Soon,” she said softly. “Then I can hang on until he comes.”
I hope it’ll be soon, Starflight thought. I hope he doesn’t die on his way here. I hope Glory survives, too. I hope my friends are planning to rescue me as well.
Fatespeaker’s expression was ten kinds of confused. She tilted her head as if she was listening, and Starflight realized with a jolt of panic that he’d been having several unguarded thoughts since they’d started this part of the tour. He’d forgotten — how could I forget? — to worry about having his mind read.
But his father hadn’t reacted to any of his thoughts; Mastermind looked as pleased as ever. Not a mind reader, then, perhaps. Maybe those kinds of powers aren’t “genetically dominant” in us. Maybe it is enough just to be smart like him.
He’d always thought all NightWings could read minds and all NightWings could see the future. That’s what it sounded like in the scrolls he’d read. But Glory thought maybe it was only some of them, and perhaps she was right. Maybe I’m not completely defective.
“Three moons!” Mastermind barked from the doorway. “How did you turn her that pink color? I’ve never seen any of them look like that before.”
That’s because it’s the color of happiness, and there’s no happiness on this twisted island.
Starflight met Fatespeaker’s eyes.
“I think she’s just grateful for the water,” Fatespeaker said, blinking at him. He didn’t have to read minds to guess she was thinking, We’ll be talking about this later.
“Fascinating.” Mastermind came over and prodded the scales on Orchid’s neck with one claw. She closed her eyes. Her color didn’t change. “Utterly fascinating.”
A burly NightWing slouched grumpily in from the balcony. Half a lizard hung from one corner of his mouth, and his shoulders were almost too wide for his wings to fit through the door.
“What?” he mumbled, chewing.
“This one can go back,” said Mastermind. “Oh, and Strongwings, guess what? This is my son.” He waved gleefully at Starflight. Starflight wished he could go back half an hour in time, to when he’d been just as happy about those words as Mastermind was.
Strongwings gave Starflight a dubious look. “Heh,” he said. “All right. So when do I get a helmet like that?” He nodded at the thing on Mastermind’s head.
“This is just a prototype,” Mastermind said. He turned to Starflight. “As you can imagine, the hardest part of creating venom-resistant armor is coming up with a solution that protects the eyes but still allows one to see. I’d love to hear your thoughts, because I must admit I’m stymied. This is a thoroughly imperfect solution.” He tapped on the helmet with his talons. “Peripheral vision is negligible at best, and of course, venom could still splash through the holes if one were unlucky.” He shook his head. “There must be a more ingenious approach.”
“Whatever,” Strongwings grumped. “Where’s her band?”
Mastermind waved at the corner, and the muscular NightWing picked up a heap of metal and one of the spears. He brought it over and fitted a kind of muzzle around Orchid’s mouth, twisting the lock into place with a practiced flick of the spear tips. Then he shooed Starflight and Fatespeaker aside, snapped a chain around the RainWing’s neck, and gave it a yank. Without protesting, Orchid followed him out of the room.
“But why are you doing this?” Starflight blurted. “Why study their venom at all?”
Mastermind pulled off the helmet and gave him a confused look. “It’s science! We’re expanding dragon knowledge!”
“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Starflight said. “Why is this so important? Why do you need venom-resistant armor? The RainWings would never have bothered
you if you left them alone.”
His father shrugged. “The queen has her reasons, I have mine. I don’t get involved in her plans. For me, scientific discovery is reason enough.”
Starflight looked at the clamps on the wall, then down at the floor, too sickened to ask any more questions.
“Well, I wish I had time to show you more,” Mastermind said, setting his helmet up on a shelf. “But my daily scheduled meeting with the queen is upon me.”
“Do you get to see her?” Starflight asked.
“No, no,” said Mastermind. “Three moons, no. No one sees the queen. Not for the last nine years or so. She’s very private.”
Really, Starflight thought.
“I wish I had some more progress to report,” Mastermind mused. “But telling her about you will certainly be a triumph. Come back tomorrow and we can get to know each other better, yes?” He wrapped his wings around Starflight and hugged him, not waiting for an answer. “It was fantastic to meet you, son. I am so very proud.”
He ushered them out the door and locked it, then slid away toward a tunnel at the far end of the balcony. Starflight glanced along the row of doors, imagining tortured RainWings behind each one.
“Wow,” Fatespeaker said. “So. Turns out we might be horrible. I did not foresee that at all.”
Starflight sat down, his shoulders slumping. “I believed everything I read — about NightWings being so noble and brilliant and perfect. This … I can’t understand this.”
“So where have you been?” she asked curiously. “You’re not like them. And who’s Mangrove?”
“I was raised by the Talons of Peace, too,” he said, hoping he could avoid the Mangrove question by distracting her. “Actually, I’m the one in the prophecy. Or I was. I guess I’m expendable, since they’re replacing me with you.”
“What?” She took a step back, fluttering her wings. “Wait, I never saw you. I lived right in the Talons of Peace camp.”
“We were kept hidden,” Starflight explained. “Under a mountain. No one was supposed to find us.”
“There you are.” Morrowseer landed beside them with a thump. “If you’re quite finished with your little chat, there are other pressing matters we could attend to.”
“I’m not finished,” Fatespeaker said, whirling toward him. “He’s all special and chosen, too! How can we both be in the prophecy?”
“Only one of you will be,” said Morrowseer. “But that’s why you’re both here. So that we can decide which one.”
So there’s still a chance, Starflight thought.
“Don’t you know? Didn’t you deliver that prophecy?” Fatespeaker asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Prophecies can be complicated,” Morrowseer said coldly.
“Oooo,” Fatespeaker said. “Good comeback. I should write that down and use it on Viper.”
“The real problem,” Morrowseer went on, “is that neither of you are suitable candidates whatsoever, but we have no other dragonets of the right age we could use, so it must be one of you.” He growled. “We apparently made a grave error allowing you to be raised outside the tribe, where we thought you’d be safe from — well, just in case. It has always been our assumption that NightWing superiority is something every NightWing is hatched with.”
He looked down his nose at the two dragonets. “Evidently we were wrong.”
“But why aren’t I suitable?” Starflight asked. He hated the plaintive tone in his voice, but he couldn’t seem to quash it. “What have I done?”
“You have no leadership qualities,” Morrowseer said. “You make NightWings look like cowards and followers. And you antagonized our ally.”
“Blister?” Starflight said, uncomfortably remembering his interaction with her in the Kingdom of the Sea. He’d tried to find reasons to support her as the next SandWing queen — really, he’d tried — but she was too manipulative and too untrustworthy. And he didn’t like the way she’d looked at Sunny, as if the little dragonet would make an excellent snack.
“You have placed our whole plan in jeopardy,” Morrowseer said.
“What plan?” Starflight cried. “How am I supposed to make anything happen when I don’t even know what you really want?”
To his surprise, Morrowseer actually paused and thought about that.
“No,” he rumbled finally. “Dragonets can’t be trusted with secrets. Perhaps if you are the one chosen, we can reveal more. But all you should really need to know is how to follow orders.” He scowled. “Now come.”
Morrowseer swept away, lashing his tail.
Starflight and Fatespeaker exchanged glances. “Have your visions given you any hints?” Starflight asked. “About whatever their secret plan is, I mean?”
She scratched her neck, the anklet of silver scales glittering as she moved. “Let me think.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Oh, absolutely! It involves us! But both of us! And we’re going to be heroes and the whole tribe will help us stop the war and maybe they’ll even make us king and queen.”
Startled, he blinked at her. King and queen? But he couldn’t — she wasn’t — well, she wasn’t Sunny. And he’d been in love with one dragon his whole life.
“MOVE NOW OR I WILL KILL YOU BOTH, PROPHECY OR NO PROPHECY,” Morrowseer bellowed from the tunnel.
The dragonets scrambled up and hurried after him, tripping over each other. Fatespeaker bounded into the lead, and Starflight was left trailing behind, his mind a whirl of confusion.
He didn’t want to think about a possible future as Fatespeaker’s king, so he focused on his father’s experiments instead. Why are they torturing the RainWings? I can figure this out. Think, Starflight, think.
His first guess was that the NightWings wanted to use RainWing venom themselves. As Vengeance had said, it was one of the most powerful weapons in Pyrrhia. If they could somehow replicate the venom or adapt it for their own purposes, that plus their telepathy and precognition would make the NightWings unstoppable.
Maybe their secret plan involved joining the war once they had this new kind of weapon for themselves. Starflight already knew they’d chosen a side — Blister’s — although why her, and why they were thinking of fighting the war now, eighteen years into it, he couldn’t figure out.
Perhaps Blister had promised them something, the way Blaze was giving up territory to the IceWings in exchange for their help.
Territory.
Starflight stopped in the middle of the rocky tunnel as understanding flooded over him.
That’s what they need. More than anything, the NightWings need a new home.
The volcano was extremely dangerous — maybe it had been dormant when the tribe moved here, but it certainly wasn’t anymore. The NightWings were living under its threat every day. And the island was a horrible place to live. They must be running out of prey, with hardly any freshwater to drink, no view of the sky through the thick cloud cover, and nowhere to go except through the tunnel to the rainforest.
The rainforest, which was the opposite of here: the perfect place to live.
That’s their plan. Starflight clutched his head. Why hadn’t he figured it out sooner? The NightWings weren’t trying to reproduce the venom — Mastermind’s experiments were all about how to defend against it. Because the NightWings were planning to invade the rainforest and steal it from the RainWings. But they were afraid of the RainWings fighting back. Even the famously peaceful tribe would surely have to defend their home.
So the NightWings were figuring out how to protect themselves from RainWing venom, in preparation for the day when they stormed into the rainforest and took it over for themselves.
Is that what Blister has promised them? The tunnel from the rainforest to the Kingdom of Sand … That’s for a SandWing army, once she is queen, so they can come through and help the NightWings fight the RainWings, if need be.
The RainWings were in awful danger. This wasn’t a matter of a few dragons disappearing here or there. Glory was ri
ght, and Queen Magnificent was wrong. They have to fight back, or soon they’ll all be dead.
And I’m the only one who knows.
But he was just Starflight, the weakest, most cowardly dragon ever chosen for a prophecy. How could he save the RainWings? How could he stop his own tribe from destroying them?
Fatespeaker came charging back down the tunnel.
“I keep thinking he can’t get any more grumpy, and then he DOES,” she said. “Come on, hurry up! He says you have to meet the others, in case you’re the dragonet in the prophecy instead of me.” She waved her talons in front of his face. “Wake up, dreamy face.”
Starflight shook himself as hard as he could. “Coming,” he said, although he felt like he could barely string words together.
Maybe I’m wrong. But he knew he wasn’t. All the pieces fit together too well.
I’ve figured out the NightWings’ secret plan, he thought. But now … what do I do about it?
Others.
What Fatespeaker had said didn’t sink in until Starflight was actually standing in the cave a short flight from the fortress, facing four unfamiliar and unfriendly faces. Red, green, brown, and white-gold.
They have a SkyWing, Starflight thought. And a SandWing who looks like a real SandWing. He hadn’t met many SandWings in his life, but this one’s scowl and restless hostility made her look like the opposite of Sunny.
“The alternate dragonets of destiny,” Morrowseer growled, scanning them with a displeased expression.
“Who is that?” said the emerald-green SeaWing, squinting at Starflight. “Looks like her. Is he going to be annoying like her?” He jerked his head at Fatespeaker.
“This is Starflight. Starflight, these are my friends,” Fatespeaker said, blithely ignoring him. The SkyWing snorted and the SandWing rolled her eyes. “Over there is Flame, the SkyWing, obviously. The fat MudWing is Ochre, the SandWing with the sour expression is Viper, and the shrimpy SeaWing is Squid.”
“Did she get in trouble?” Squid asked Morrowseer. “I told her she’d get in trouble if she left the cave. I hope you thumped her.”