Darkness of Dragons

  But tonight Parch’s disregard for the rules would work in Qibli’s favor. “Yes,” Qibli said, seizing one of Parch’s arms. “She’ll want to hear about this right away.”

  Parch shrugged at Tawny. “Sounds important.”

  Tawny rolled her eyes but waved them toward the palace. “All right, go ahead,” she said.

  “Wait for me by the Oasis monument in the courtyard,” Qibli said to the others.

  “I want to see Queen Thorn, too!” cried Ostrich.

  “Seriously,” said Winter. “Suddenly we’re not invited inside?”

  “Yeah,” Cobra protested. “Why can’t we come with you?”

  “Because I need to explain you before Queen Thorn sees you,” Qibli said patiently.

  He watched them flap down toward the enormous white stone courtyard, muttering to themselves, and then he dove toward one of the gardens. If Queen Thorn was meeting with an important dragon, he knew exactly where she’d have that meeting — her favorite room in the palace.

  It wasn’t even a room, exactly; it was a tent made of flapping white fabric that Thorn had installed next to the largest palace pool, to remind her of her old Outclaw headquarters.

  Qibli was right; he could hear the murmur of Thorn’s voice as he approached the tent, although the wind and the trickle of water obscured her words. Pale yellow and pink lilies drifted across the pool, bumping into the petals of fat crimson flowers from the tree overhead.

  “Queen Thorn!” he called from outside. “It’s Qibli. May I enter?”

  There was a pause, and then one of the walls was flung aside as Thorn peered out at him. “Qibli!” she cried, her face lighting up. “Maybe you can — no, wait — hang on.” She sat up straight and looked stern. “Why aren’t you in school, you ruffian?”

  She’s all right. Qibli nearly collapsed with relief. He was still a step ahead of Darkstalker’s plans, at least for the Kingdom of Sand. It wasn’t too late. He could protect her right now, before the giant NightWing started wiping out all the queens in Pyrrhia, or whatever he was going to do.

  “I need you to put this on,” he said, digging one of the earrings out of his bag. “Please. Right away. It’s urgent, and then I can explain.”

  “Come on in,” Thorn said, beckoning.

  Inside, the tent was lit by the warm glow of oil lamps and smelled like cinnamon and cardamom tea. There were two other dragons with the queen, and one of them, Qibli realized with surprise, was Smolder, the brother of Burn, Blister, and Blaze.

  Onyx’s father, he realized with a shiver. Does he have any idea she exists?

  The other dragon in the tent was a striking cobalt-blue color, shining like sapphires in the lamplight, with a white underbelly and dark black eyes. The spikes around his neck marked him as an IceWing, but he also had stripes under his wings that glowed phosphorescently in the semidarkness — like a SeaWing.

  Tawny said there was a hybrid here, Qibli remembered. A SeaWing-IceWing hybrid apparently. He wondered how this dragon’s parents had met and fallen in love, when their kingdoms were so far apart and probably at war at the time. There must be a story there.

  “Qibli, this is Typhoon.” Queen Thorn indicated the stranger, who nodded politely in Qibli’s direction. “He’s come with troubling news from Possibility.”

  “That’s great,” Qibli said in a rush. “I mean, not great, I’m sure whatever it is is terrible, but before we get to that, maybe just quick fling this earring on? And then everything else can go back to being top priority, you bet.”

  Smolder tried to hide his chuckling in his cup of tea, but not very successfully.

  “This sounds rather suspicious,” Thorn said, holding out her talon. Qibli put the earring in her palm with trembling claws and she lifted it up to study the light bending through the warm amber. “I’m guessing there’s a spell on this,” she said astutely. “The question is, is it a good spell or a bad spell? And the answer depends on whether you’re under a spell, or possibly whether you have wrong information.”

  “It’s a good spell,” Qibli said desperately. “I promise. It’ll protect you from something you really need protecting from, like, right now. Trust me.”

  “I do,” said Thorn with calm certainty.

  “Hang on,” said Smolder, watching her lift it to her ear. “Do we all? Is this the smartest plan? Should we, um, vote or something?”

  “I’ve been spoiling him by letting him express his opinion now and then,” Thorn said to Qibli. She looked down her nose at Smolder. “I am the queen, you camel-chewing, snore-a-minute son of a toad.”

  “Oh, right,” said Smolder. “Very dignified. Hard to argue with that kind of elegant turn of phrase.”

  Thorn laughed, pulled out the small ruby that was already in one ear, and stabbed the enchanted earring through. “Hmmm. I feel the same,” she said to Smolder. “Have I been turned into a frog and just can’t tell?”

  “An extremely beautiful frog,” Smolder promised. “One we’re all still proud to call our queen.”

  “You are no help,” Thorn said, waving her claws at him. “But I suppose I’ll let you live, for today.”

  Qibli sank gratefully onto one of the large red pillows. His queen was safe. His most important mission was complete, and now he could feel his exhaustion setting in.

  “You really are worried about something,” Smolder said, studying him closely. Something darted under his feet and Qibli nearly jumped, thinking it was a wild animal — but it was only Smolder’s pet scavenger, Flower. She clambered casually up Smolder’s leg until she could sit on his shoulder and watch all the dragons.

  I have to make sure Winter meets her, Qibli thought. He could learn a lot from Smolder about taking care of scavengers.

  “I’ll tell you everything later,” he said to Thorn, pointedly looking only at her. Smolder was funny and interesting, but he wasn’t an Outclaw, and he looked horribly like Blister, and he had done Burn’s bidding all the way through the war, even including an attempt to imprison Thorn and Sunny so she could have them. Qibli was not prepared to trust him just yet.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” he said to Typhoon.

  “Quite all right,” said Typhoon. “I would never want to get in the way of urgent accessorizing.”

  Smolder snorted a laugh, which was helpful, because Qibli hadn’t been entirely sure if that was a joke. Typhoon had an excellent straight face.

  “Tell Qibli what you told us,” Thorn said to the unusual-looking dragon.

  Typhoon leaned forward and Qibli noticed a snail-shell earring in his left ear. “All the IceWings in Possibility are sick,” he said without preamble. “Three days ago, they were healthy and normal. There aren’t very many IceWings living in the town yet, so we tend to stay close. And then all of a sudden, every single one of them started coughing blood.”

  A cold feeling ran down Qibli’s spine, like an IceWing claw trailing along the ridge of his back.

  Could be a normal plague. Cities get them all the time.

  “You say you all stay close,” Smolder observed. “So isn’t it likely that one dragon got sick and infected everyone else?”

  “It happened too fast for that,” Typhoon said, shaking his head. “I’ve been studying medicine and disease for the last two years; I know how fevers like this usually spread. And no one is sick except the IceWings. This isn’t normal.”

  “Why did you come to me, instead of Queen Glacier or Queen Coral?” Thorn asked.

  “Because I think you’re the smartest and most capable queen in Pyrrhia right now,” Typhoon answered, looking her in the eye. “And to be honest, you were also the closest. My father is one of the most ill. If there’s any chance of saving him, we need someone who can act fast.”

  “I have doctors I can send —” Thorn started.

  “When exactly did the sickness hit?” Qibli interrupted. Thorn gave him a startled look, but she was still more Outclaw than queen, willing to give anyone a voice. Smolder, on the other talon
, made a face as though he couldn’t understand why Qibli was allowed to keep his head.

  “The night before last,” Typhoon answered. “Around midnight.”

  That was Darkstalker’s first night of freedom.

  Qibli remembered that Darkstalker had been away from Jade Mountain Academy for most of that night. What had he been doing?

  Did he cast a spell to hurt the IceWings? Is he still looking for revenge, after thousands of years?

  If so, how bad a spell is it? Is he trying to wipe out the entire tribe, or just weaken them?

  “I know that look,” said Thorn, watching him sharply. “You’ve figured something out.”

  “I think Typhoon is right,” said Qibli.

  “That’s always nice to hear,” said the blue dragon with a wry smile.

  “This isn’t a normal disease,” Qibli went on.

  “Less nice,” Typhoon murmured ruefully.

  “It’s not a disease at all,” Qibli said. “It’s a spell. And I think I know who cast it — an animus dragon who hates the IceWings.” A whole tribe under attack by such powerful magic. From a distance, and without even knowing that their enemy had arisen. They wouldn’t even know this was an attack; it would just seem like an illness. Darkstalker would be able to deny that it had anything to do with him, and even unbewitched dragons might believe him.

  “All IceWings?” Thorn said sharply. “You mean this could be happening in the Ice Kingdom, too, not just in Possibility?”

  “I’d assume it is,” said Qibli, flicking his tail.

  But the world is different now than it was in Darkstalker’s time. In his time, the IceWings would have all been in the Ice Kingdom, isolated, where a plague could wipe them out without anyone knowing until it was over. In this world — a world with Possibility in it, and the Talons of Peace, and hybrid dragons and soldiers from different tribes who fought alongside one another in the Great War — in this world, we can see the dying dragons.

  We can see them, and we can save them. We can stop him.

  He looked at the animus-touched bracelets on his wrists again, itching to use them against Darkstalker. He wanted to throw a lightning bolt into the NightWing’s grinning face.

  “We have to send someone to check on the Ice Kingdom,” Thorn said, leaping to her feet.

  “You can’t,” Smolder pointed out reasonably. “Any of our dragons would freeze to death or be shot down by the Great Ice Cliff.”

  “That’s right.” Thorn started to pace. “Queen Glacier warned me about the Ice Cliff.” She whirled toward Typhoon. “Can you cross the Cliff safely?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Apparently half IceWing is IceWing enough.”

  But not enough to be hit by the plague? Qibli wondered, and his spinning brain answered itself: Because Darkstalker is half IceWing, too. He must have left out hybrids, thinking there weren’t enough of them to save the others … and so his descendants, like Sunny, would be safe.

  What about Winter? Why was he spared?

  He thought of his IceWing friend standing outside in the palace courtyard with Ostrich and Cobra.

  “Wait,” he said, standing up quickly. “I know a faster way we can find out what’s happening in the Ice Kingdom. But first, Queen Thorn — I need you to arrest my mother.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Cobra roared as four SandWing soldiers seized her wings and tail. They threw chains around her legs and efficiently snapped a metal cage around the end of her tail so she couldn’t sting anyone with her venom.

  “You are under arrest,” Thorn announced, holding her flaming torch a little higher to examine Cobra’s face. “For …” She gave Qibli a quizzical look.

  “For lying to me,” Qibli said, “and conspiring against the queen.”

  “Lying to you!” Cobra shouted. “What are you talking about?” She snapped her teeth at one of the soldiers and nearly managed to bite off his ear.

  “You have not been imprisoned for the last two years,” Qibli said, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice. “I doubt you were even in that oubliette for a day before I arrived. Vulture knew I was coming and put you down there so I’d be willing to risk everything to save you.”

  “No,” Cobra growled, struggling.

  “Queen Thorn,” said Qibli, “who’s in charge of all your spies?”

  “A dragon named Capybara,” Thorn answered.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Qibli. He turned to his mother. “You said the name Capybara when you were pretending to read my scroll of information for Vulture — but I hadn’t written that name anywhere in it. You also mentioned Thorn’s morning meetings with her most trusted advisors. You’d only know about those details if you’d been out of prison this whole time, spying on Thorn with the Obsidian Mirror, right alongside Grandfather.”

  “That’s — that’s ridiculous,” Cobra sputtered. “A coincidence —”

  “And when I went to our old house,” Qibli went on, “I smelled roasted coriander seeds — the snack you always eat when you’re preparing for an assassination. You’d been there only a day or so earlier, not gone for two years.

  “That’s also why we were able to escape so easily. Because this is what Vulture really wanted — for me to bring you, his top assassin, into Thorn’s palace.”

  “Dung beetles,” Cobra spat. “This is all wild speculation. You’ve always been a half-witted idiot with crazy ideas.”

  “Open that sack,” Qibli said to the soldiers, flicking his tail at the bag Cobra had brought with her. “Carefully.”

  One of them gingerly undid the top and peered inside. She took out an oval of flat black glass and set it on the sand. That was followed by the remaining chakrams, a series of gradually pointier and scarier knives, a black hood, and a small glass vial with an emerald-green liquid inside. Last of all, the guard reached back into the bag and lifted out a fat, spiky dragonflame cactus.

  That’s what blew up the history cave, Qibli thought, feeling a creeping sense of horror at the sight of the prickly weapon. That’s what killed Carnelian and Bigtail. He knew if it caught fire, it would explode and spray deadly sharp little seed pods in all directions.

  Smolder took a step closer and squinted at it. “Your Majesty,” he said.

  “I know,” said Thorn. “We’ve seen evidence of these at all the attack sites.”

  “Were you sent to blow up the palace?” Qibli asked his mother. He touched the vial lightly with the tip of his wing. “Or was your mission to poison the queen?”

  Cobra’s eyes narrowed. There was a beat of silence, and then she spat, “All right, Mr. Cleverclaws. You think you’ve got it all figured out. But did it ever occur to you that I might be betraying him? That he wouldn’t have wanted me to take the Obsidian Mirror? That I might really want to destroy him and take over the Scorpion Den with you at my side?”

  With you at my side. My only true dragonet.

  Qibli forced bands of steel around his heart.

  “Yes, I did think of that,” he said to her, “but somehow, the idea that you’re even untrustworthy to your own father didn’t convince me to trust you more.”

  I wanted to, Mother. I’ve always wanted to. Vulture knew exactly how to mess with me.

  But he underestimated how much I’ve learned from Queen Thorn — and how much stronger my friends have made me. He glanced at Winter, who was watching with an expression that said he’d had his doubts about Cobra, too.

  “Take her to the dungeon,” Thorn said to the guards. “Lock her in the cell next to the mad prisoner. They can keep each other company for a while.”

  Cobra shrieked with rage as they dragged her away, and Qibli tried not to imagine that alternate universe where he played along with her games and got to be her favorite for just a moment longer.

  “Did you say the Obsidian Mirror?” Thorn said to him. “The one Sunny left in the desert and couldn’t find again after the war?”

  Qibli flicked his tail at the eerie oval that looked as if it wa
s made of black glass. “Vulture’s had it for the last several months.”

  “Well, that’s … horrifying,” said Thorn.

  “I know, but now you can use it to check on Glacier,” Qibli suggested.

  Winter’s head snapped up. “Glacier?” he said. “Why? What? Why do you need to spy on Queen Glacier?”

  “We’re not spying,” Qibli said. He watched the mirror carefully as it was placed in Thorn’s claws. “We think she’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Winter hurried over and stared at the mirror. One of the moons was reflected in it, thin and sharp like a silver claw, with the torches’ firelight crackling around the edges.

  “Let’s see if I can remember how Sunny described this,” said the queen, closing her eyes and thinking for a moment. “Um.” She held the mirror close to her mouth and whispered, “Queen Glacier of the IceWings,” then squinted at it. After a moment of nothing happening, she nodded as if remembering something and breathed a plume of smoke across the dark surface.

  The smoke curled into four separate tendrils, all in shades of pale blue and white. One, the largest, was in the center, with the other three clustered around it.

  “She’s getting worse,” whispered one of the tendrils, making Qibli jump.

  “She hasn’t woken up since midday,” whispered another.

  “What do we do?” The third one twisted anxiously in little smoke-knots. “Narwhal is too sick to take charge and —” She broke off into a coughing spell that tore at Qibli’s heart. He wished he could reach right into the mirror and hold her lungs together for her.

  He looked up and saw a horrorstruck expression on Winter’s face. Did he recognize one of the voices? Or — she’d mentioned someone called Narwhal. That had to be a member of the royal family … perhaps even Winter’s father, Qibli guessed.

  “Everyone’s too sick to take charge,” said the first in a small, sad voice.

  “Should we send for help?” said the second, starting to cough as well. “Is anyone well enough to make it to the Kingdom of Sand?”

  “Poor Glacier,” Thorn said softly. “You were right, Qibli. It’s hit all the IceWings in Pyrrhia.”