The NightWing reared up, flaring his wings, and he was so big and unfamiliar and angry-looking that Peril had a brief moment of fear that they’d cornered the wrong dragon.

“No, that’s him, all right,” Moon said. “I’m sure.”

Then Peril saw the pouch of shape-shifting jewelry at his feet and the case that held the scroll around his chest. This was definitely him.

“Father!” Peril shouted. “Stop! I don’t want to hurt you, but I will!”

“And so will we,” Winter hissed, the sound of frostbreath gathering under his words.

Chameleon froze, but Peril still had never seen such a look of fury and disgust on him before.

“That’s him,” Winter said to Qibli and Turtle. “That’s the dragon who attacked us and wounded Kinkajou.”

Turtle growled softly in his throat, and Qibli raised his venomous tail, digging his claws into the muddy riverbank.

“But that’s impossible,” Moon said. “We hit him with my fire and your frostbreath … this dragon has no scars, no injuries, nothing.”

“It’s the enchantment,” Qibli guessed. “It probably starts the shape off new and uninjured every time. He just has to take it off, and all the wounds disappear — then when he puts it back on, the scroll makes him a NightWing per the instructions all over again. No lasting damage, ever.”

“That’s useful,” said Peril. She remembered how Ruby’s injuries had disappeared when she turned back into Tourmaline. “Is that right?”

Chameleon breathed a small spire of smoke, then nodded. She wished he would say something, instead of just glaring at all of them — at her especially — with those narrow black eyes.

“Listen,” she said. “We just want the scroll.”

“No,” he spat, spikes bristling all along his back.

“Actually, I want the scroll and justice,” Winter said. “I think he should pay for what he did to Kinkajou.”

“Me too,” said Turtle.

“Me too,” said Moon, “but the scroll is the most important thing.”

“And I think taking it from him will be punishment enough,” said Peril. Winter snorted disbelievingly and she ignored him. “I’m sorry, Father. But you can’t keep it, not after what you’ve done with it. We can’t trust you.”

“I won’t do anything terrible,” he said. “I was only following Scarlet’s orders. You know all about that.”

“You weren’t following her orders when you put Kinkajou in the hospital,” Qibli observed. “That was all you.”

“And you could have chosen me over her once you knew we were family,” Peril said. “You didn’t have to betray me by taking away my memories. You could also have stayed and been loyal to Queen Ruby, but it’s clear you’re not planning on that. You’ve had choices, and we haven’t seen you make any good ones yet.”

“But this is an easy one,” Moon said. “Give us the scroll, and we let you go.”

“Or don’t give us the scroll,” said Qibli, “and get another face full of flames and frostbreath. Wow, try saying that five times fast.”

“You’ll still have your treasure,” Peril said. And she would leave him the scraps of scroll he’d already enchanted with his different shapes. He could still be Soar and Shapeshifter and Cirrus and whoever else when he didn’t want to be Chameleon. She knew what it was like to wish for different scales, and she knew how much he needed them, as a RainWing with no scale-shifting powers. “You’ll keep having your great life wherever you decide to go. You just won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

Winter hissed again.

“But it’s mine,” Chameleon said, clutching the metal sheath to his chest. “I found it, I get to keep it. Why should you have it? What makes you all any better than me?”

Peril didn’t really know the answer to that question. Was she any better than her father? Did she know these other dragonets well enough to say that they were? What would they do with power like that?

But she knew one thing: she couldn’t leave it with Chameleon.

“Give it to us,” she said. “Please don’t make us fight you for it.”

“Or do,” said Winter. “I’m ready.”

“You think you can hurt me,” Chameleon snarled. “But I’ve made some modifications to this shape since we last met, IceWing. Shapeshifter already had strength beyond any dragon — but now I also have scales that cannot be harmed and flames as hot as my daughter’s scales. I foresee a pretty horrible death ahead for most of you.”

Peril felt sick. Why hadn’t she seen this dangerous, power-hungry side of him before? She didn’t want anything bad to happen to Turtle. She was pretty sure she’d even be able to muster some sadness if anything happened to Winter.

“But, Father —” she started.

“What’s happening?” Chameleon suddenly shouted. He scrabbled at his chest. “How are you doing that? Stop! It’s mine!”

Peril stepped back in astonishment as the sheath unbuckled itself and started to wriggle free of the hulking NightWing’s talons. Chameleon held on to it desperately.

“No!” he roared. “You can’t take it!”

The metal sheath hesitated, poised in the air as if it were trying to launch itself out of Chameleon’s claws. And then it pivoted abruptly and bashed him in the face.

Chameleon yowled with pain, let go of the scroll, and fell back, covering his snout with his talons. Blood was running from one of his eyes.

The sheath bashed him in the face once more, with what looked like the force of a mountain behind it. Chameleon shrieked and Peril guessed that several of the bones in his snout were broken.

“That’s enough,” she cried. She knew that soon he’d recover from the shock and gather the strength to take off his NightWing shape, and then he’d be healed instantly. But it was still beyond horrible to see him suffering like that. No matter what he’d done, she believed there was a part of him that had wanted to help her … that had wanted to be a family.

For a moment, the sheath hovered in the air, as if considering whether to listen to her, and then it spun slowly and floated over to land in Turtle’s talons.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They all spread their wings and lifted off at once; Peril swerved to make sure she stayed clear of the others.

“That scroll is mine!” Chameleon screamed as they flew into the dark clouds. “I’ll find you! I’ll take it back! You’ll be sorry! It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine!”

Peril glanced left, at Turtle’s determined jawline, and then right, at Moon’s nervously twitching talons.

Now that they had the most dangerous scroll in Pyrrhia … what were they going to do with it?

*  *  *

They flew south for a long time before it felt safe enough to stop; Peril kept imagining she could hear Shapeshifter’s ominous wingbeats following them. But soon they came to a part of the mountains that was jagged with canyons and steep ravines, and at the bottom of one of these, they found a cave deep enough to crawl into and set a fire without anyone seeing them from above.

Moon caught some kind of mountain cat for them to eat and they huddled against the stone walls, listening to the rain that had started again outside.

Peril ate her portion in a famished rush, keeping herself on the far side of the fire from the others. Even if Turtle still had his ridiculous healing rock, she imagined it wouldn’t go over well if she burned any of them again.

Turtle put the scroll carefully on top of a ledge at the back of the cave. Everyone kept looking at it, although Peril thought that Moon had the most interesting range of expressions about it. What did that one mean? And that one? What was she thinking?

“You didn’t have to do that, Turtle,” Moon said finally, breaking the silence. “You shouldn’t use your animus power if you can help it … maybe you shouldn’t use it ever. Aren’t you worried about your soul? How do you feel?”

“A little cold,” he said with a shrug. “But only the tiniest bit evil.”

“I’m serious!” she protested as Qibli laughed. “I read about what happened with Albatross.”

“My murderous ancestor, I know,” Turtle said. “But my enchantments have been so small, and I feel exactly the same as I always have. I think you’ll notice if I start turning homicidal.”

Moon did not look in the least bit reassured.

“It’s all right to use animus magic if you’re careful about it,” Winter said. “In the Ice Kingdom, our animus dragons used to spend their lives planning one enchantment that would benefit the whole tribe. They used their magic once, for something beautiful and useful, and they were fine all the rest of their lives.”

“Huh,” Qibli said. “I thought I heard something about an animus IceWing queen who went crazy once, a long, long time ago.”

“Oh,” Winter said, shifting on his talons. “Maybe. But she — well, she used her magic more than she was supposed to. If it’s the queen I’m guessing it was anyway.”

“What do we do with this scroll now?” Peril asked. “Should we take it back to Jade Mountain and give it to Clay? And the others?” she added hurriedly.

“Maybe,” Turtle said. “But I’m not sure anyone should have this much power, no matter how good we think they are. It can’t be good for your soul.”

“I think a very wise and good dragon would know how to use it the right way,” Qibli objected. “I think we should give it to Queen Thorn.”

“Maybe we should give it to Queen Glacier!” Winter snapped.

“We shouldn’t give it to anyone,” Moon said. “It already belongs to someone.”

The fire crackled in the silence that fell, devouring the scraps of wood they had found to burn. Everyone was watching Moon now, and Peril wondered what she could hear in their minds.

“What do you mean?” Winter asked finally, just as Qibli said, “Who?”

“The animus dragon who made it,” Moon said. “He put all his power into that scroll so that he could use his magic without damaging his soul. Which is pretty smart, right? He was trying to protect the world from whatever he might become.”

“Or give himself unlimited power,” Winter observed.

“But doesn’t it seem like a good idea?” Moon asked. “If his magic doesn’t turn him evil, he’ll only do good things with it, right?”

“Doesn’t?” Qibli echoed. “Moon. I thought you said this was some ancient legend. So why are you using the present tense?”

“Because —” she started, then hesitated and started again. “Because he’s still alive.”

“Who?” Winter said, rising to his feet.

“And he’s trapped,” she said, her words suddenly spilling out like smoke. “I started hearing his voice in my head when I got to Jade Mountain. He’s stuck underground somewhere and he’s starving and alone and he just wants to get out and this scroll is the one thing that could help him do that. So I said — I said I’d look for it.”

“And give it back to him?” Turtle said, then answered himself. “Actually, I guess that’s fair. It is his magic, after all.”

“Moon,” Winter growled, his voice low and ominous. “Who is he?”

“Well,” she said, “first I want you to remember that everything you know about him is two thousand years old and comes from stories told by the dragons who defeated him. You don’t really know him, even if you think you do.”

“DARKSTALKER?!” Winter roared. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

“There’s no need to yell,” Qibli said, standing up as well.

“If the Darkstalker is trapped and starving and alone, that is exactly what he deserves,” Winter said.

“Oh, really?” Moon countered. “What about the misunderstood NightWing that you set free? Wasn’t she a legendary enemy of the IceWings, too?”

“Yes, but she didn’t have horrible powers,” Winter said.

Moon’s wings flew open and she rose onto her back legs, growling. “Horrible powers? You mean mind reading and visions of the future? You mean my horrible powers?”

“And — uh —” Winter trailed off, glancing at Turtle.

“And my horrible power,” Turtle finished.

“Well,” Peril said, flexing her talons, “at least he doesn’t have mine.”

“He killed his own father,” Winter said, rallying to his argument again. “Our IceWing prince. Isn’t your whole tribe terrified of him?”

“Yes,” Moon admitted. “But they don’t know him either.”

“And you do?” Qibli asked.

The question hung in the air, and Peril noticed for the first time the intensity in Qibli’s eyes as he looked at Moon. She couldn’t interpret it exactly, but she got the feeling there were several layers to the question he was asking. Layers like if he’s so important to you, why didn’t you tell us about him before? and one she especially recognized: do you like him better than me?

Moon looked away first. “Maybe,” she said. “I think so. I don’t know.”

“I can’t let you use this scroll to free the Darkstalker,” Winter said.

“What you can’t do is order me around,” Moon said sharply. “What you can do instead is have a rational conversation with me, and listen to me, and try to talk me out of it if you must.”

“But not right now,” Turtle said. “Right now we should all sleep, and then we can talk about it in the morning. All right?”

“I agree,” Qibli said.

“Fine,” said Moon.

“Fine,” said Winter.

Peril found herself wondering again if friends might be more trouble than they were worth. She was quite glad she was not snarled up in this fight.

“I’ll sleep outside,” she offered, standing up.

“In the rain?” Turtle asked.

“It won’t bother me,” Peril said. “And I’ve been told I’m a restless sleeper.”

“Oh,” Turtle said, eyeing her wings nervously. “In that case, sure, absolutely, you bet, great plan.”

Peril shot him a grin as she went out of the cave into the rain. There was a somewhat sheltered spot at the base of the cliff, and she huddled there, thinking about the scroll and the argument and whatever this Darkstalker was, until she finally fell asleep.

And for the first time in years, her dreams were peaceful.

No furious Queen Scarlets chased her through winding hallways with too many doors. Nobody burned between her talons. There was no fire, no smoke, no death or screaming.

Just long, quiet, dreamless slumber.

“Peril? Peril?”

She was awoken by something poking her gently in the shoulder, followed by Turtle yelling “AAAH!” and leaping backward as the stick he’d poked her with burst into flames.

Peril stretched, yawning. “Well, what did you think was going to happen?” she asked. And then she noticed the two serious faces lined up behind Turtle.

“Uh-oh,” she said.

“Moon’s gone,” said Turtle. “And she’s taken the scroll with her.”