When Winter caught up to the others, they were gathered at the base of a huge tree beside a waterfall, staring up at a hole in the trunk. There was something immediately and indefinably uncomfortable about this place. It was like a spot of thin ice on a frozen lake, where the cool safety of the upper world came too close to the dark depths below.

“That’s the tunnel to the NightWing island,” Kinkajou said softly. Her voice was never that quiet or wobbly. Winter squinted at her. Was she afraid of the place for some reason?

“You can wait here if you want,” Moon said, brushing Kinkajou’s tail with her own. “If it’s too — too anything.”

“I’m all right,” Kinkajou said. She flared the ruff behind her ears and deliberately turned her scales dark blue. “I just haven’t been back since the whole … thing.”

“Whoa,” Qibli said, making the connection before Winter did. “I didn’t realize you were — you’re one of the RainWings they —”

“Imprisoned and experimented on,” Moon finished for him.

“It wasn’t quite as horrible as it sounds,” Kinkajou said. “Only mostly that horrible.”

Winter had to take a deep breath and poke the feeling he was having to be sure he was having it. Respect for Kinkajou? Surprise that a dragon as silly as her could have survived what the NightWings did to the RainWings? He’d heard only rumors, really — stories that had spread after the war ended. Tales of NightWings abducting harmless RainWings, dragging them back to the volcanic island, chaining them up, and forcing them to use their venom so the NightWings could study it.

It sounded unforgivable to him. But Kinkajou did not act like a dragon with a grudge; she didn’t seem to hate the NightWings at all. Even though she clearly should. Yet she treated Moon like a best friend …

Because Moon is different, whispered his treacherous mind. Because she would never do what the other NightWings did.

“But you don’t hate them,” Qibli said, echoing Winter’s thoughts. “That’s fascinating.”

“Well — they’re not my favorite dragons,” Kinkajou admitted, squirming. “Except Moon, of course, and Deathbringer is usually pretty great. But, you know, they’re trying to change. They have to. And with Glory as their queen, they won’t do any more awful things.”

“We’ll see,” Winter muttered.

Moon flew up to the hole and stepped inside, then twisted to look back at them. “Winter, come look at this.”

Just inside the mouth of the tunnel was a squashed wet leaf shaped a bit like a scavenger’s paw. When Winter crouched to sniff it, it felt colder than the tunnel around them.

“Did she go this way?” he asked Moon.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I still can’t hear her, but maybe that’s why, if she’s at the volcano.”

Winter started down the tunnel, walking straight into that unsettling wrong-feeling air. He heard the shuffling wings of the others falling in behind him.

Heat crackled along his scales as he glimpsed the end of the tunnel, and he paused. This was worse than the damp rainforest heat — this was the kind of heat where he wouldn’t be able to use his frostbreath. And there was something blurring his sight … bits of ash, maybe, drifting through the air.

He took a deep breath and stepped out into a cave, his talons sinking instantly into a layer of ash that covered the floor. It was dark and nearly impossible to see, but a faint gray light scraped the walls on either side of him. Winter took a step forward as Moon emerged behind him and breathed out a small plume of fire.

Sharp claws seized Winter’s heart. The shape of a huge dragon loomed overhead, its wings outstretched, its talons reaching toward him.

“He’s dead,” Moon said quickly. “Whoever he is. He’s gone — this is just the shape of him left behind.” She edged forward and tapped one of the grasping talons. The dragon didn’t move. “I wonder who it was.”

Winter’s breath slowly returned. He carefully made his way around the petrified dragon, trying not to touch the statue of hardened ash. There was a tunnel he could just squeeze into, although it was clogged with ash and the floor was a field of cooled lava that was still too hot for Winter’s liking. It was a relief when he reached open air and was able to spread his wings and fly.

This, then, at last, was the secret home of the NightWings.

He circled, studying everything below him, and felt his triumph dimming.

The island was smaller than Winter could have imagined. It made him feel instantly claustrophobic, even with (or perhaps because of) the vast ocean lurking in all directions. Dense black ripples of lava flows covered everything he could see, still glowing orange and yellow in places where liquid fire was spilling through the cracks. A mountain cut jaggedly into the sky — the volcano itself — but it looked as if the top had been smashed in, leaving a smoking hole.

Had the air been this impossible to breathe before the volcano erupted? Thick gray clouds, heavy with ash and smoke and sizzling with lightning, stretched across the sky. Everything smelled of sulfur and fire and death.

Winter couldn’t imagine anyone actually living here. What did the NightWings eat, in a place so empty of life? How could they sleep, with the promise of fiery death smoking and muttering over their heads all the time? Who would raise their dragonets in such a hideous place?

It felt like a whale smacking him in the face, how suddenly and completely he understood Moon’s mother and her decision to hide Moon in the rainforest. The stranger question was why other NightWings hadn’t done the same.

Afraid to disobey their queen, probably, he guessed. IceWings followed Queen Glacier’s orders with unquestioning obedience as they were handed down through the levels of the aristocracy. It was like obeying your parents; no one would ever think to do otherwise.

But IceWings had the entire Ice Kingdom, the safest and most purely beautiful place to live in all of Pyrrhia. It was the polar opposite of this nightmare. Queen Glacier took care of them. The NightWing queen could not have cared about her subjects at all, if she kept them rotting in a place like this.

“Oh!” Kinkajou gasped, soaring up beside him with Moon and Qibli. “Look, their fortress — it’s totally destroyed!” She pointed to the smoking volcano.

Winter hadn’t even noticed the outline of walls poking through the lava. But now that he looked, he could see the clear shape of the wrecked structure. One of the towers looked eerily like his own flight training tower in Glacier’s palace.

“I had no idea,” Moon said. “I mean, I’ve seen the island in their heads, but I never felt this — Mother never said — it’s so horrible.”

“Holy smoking vipers,” Qibli said. The SandWing swooped down toward a river of molten lava and then back up to Winter. “If I ever had nightmares, they’d be about this place from now on.”

“I think this might take care of my nightmares,” Kinkajou said. “Imagine having your home devastated like this. Poor NightWings.”

“Poor NightWings!” Winter exploded. He would not — would not — feel sorry for NightWings. “Are you serious? What is wrong with you? Don’t you remember what they were doing to your tribe — to you? How they planned to steal the rainforest and probably kill you all?”

Kinkajou flinched away from him, covering her eyes. “I know,” she said in a small voice, “but isn’t it still sad?”

“They deserve this,” Winter spat. “After everything they’ve done, the NightWings deserve to lose their home like this.”

“How can you say that?” Moon asked. “How could any tribe deserve this?”

“Seriously,” Qibli said. “What did they do to the IceWings to make you hate them so much?”

Winter twisted away from them, flying toward the volcano. His training had never covered this. He’d grown up knowing the old stories about NightWings, and he’d always assumed everybody else did, too. They were a part of his bones and the bones of every IceWing. We hate NightWings. They stole from us. They are all liars and backstabbers and monsters.

Was it a secret, the story of what they’d done to the IceWings so long ago? Or did other tribes not know about it because they didn’t particularly care? Or because the NightWings had covered it up over the years, layering their own lies on top of the truth? That was certainly something they were particularly good at.

A blast of sulfurous smoke came from one of the vents below and he dodged around it, coughing.

He’d always imagined the NightWings lounging around their secret home in perfect security, feasting and laughing and reveling in their superiority. He’d imagined them living among marvels, perhaps deep underground somewhere, smugly enjoying what they’d stolen from the IceWings.

Not this — not anything like this hellscape.

He banked to the left, searching the ground for any sign of Icicle.

“Winter?”

He turned and found Moon following him. “Please tell me,” she said. “I really don’t know what the NightWings did and I think — I think I need to.” She flicked her tail anxiously. “Does it have something to do with Darkstalker?”

“It does,” Winter said, watching Qibli and Kinkajou flying over to join them. Well, if it was a secret, someone should have told him to keep it that way. The truth was, it was better for everyone to know so they’d understand never to trust the NightWings. “But it begins with his thrice-cursed mother, Foeslayer. She approached the IceWings under the guise of peace, to offer us an alliance against the SkyWings, and instead she abducted our prince.”

“What for?” Qibli asked. “You know, all the IceWing princes I’ve met have been kind of grouchy. Why would someone want one around enough to steal him?”

Winter glared at him. “Because Prince Arctic was our last animus.”

They all gazed back blankly, as though they’d completely missed the thunderbolt he’d just thrown at their feet.

“Our last animus,” he growled. “Don’t you know anything? Not every tribe has animus dragons. IceWings haven’t had any in centuries … and you know why? Because the NightWings stole that power from us.”

“That’s crazy,” Qibli protested. “You can’t steal a power like that.”

“You can if it’s genetic,” Winter said. “The NightWings never had an animus dragon until they took Prince Arctic. Now they have them, and we don’t.” He took off, flying in a wide circle around the volcano as he eyed the lava-strewn slopes. He kept hoping to see a flash of white scales, but the only colors on this island were black and red and gold and gray.

“Wait,” Moon said, catching up to him. “What are you saying? That Foeslayer … and Prince Arctic … they had eggs together? A NightWing and an IceWing?”

“Sounds twisted, doesn’t it?” Winter hissed, ignoring the stab of guilt he felt at the thought. “Especially when you realize that Arctic would never have agreed to it — would never have betrayed the royal family that way — unless Foeslayer threatened him with something terrible. But whatever she did, it worked.”

Moon’s wings missed a beat and she nearly fell out of the sky. “Winter,” she cried, “are you saying Darkstalker’s father was an IceWing?”

“Not just any IceWing,” Winter snarled. “Prince Arctic, the very last animus ever hatched in the IceWing tribe. Father of the Darkstalker, the first NightWing animus. They planned it that way.”

“That’s … complicated and devious,” Qibli said.

“Congratulations, you’ve just summed up NightWings,” Winter said to him.

“But couldn’t Arctic go home after that?” Kinkajou asked. “I mean, once they had his eggs, couldn’t the NightWings let him go? Why didn’t he go back to the IceWings and have more eggs there?”

Winter saw Moon falter again and realized that somehow she knew the answer.

“Because Darkstalker killed him,” Winter said. “His own son murdered him to make sure the IceWings never got their stolen power back.”

“That’s not —” Moon cried, and then checked herself. “I mean — that’s not the reason I heard.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” Winter said. The volcano rumbled threateningly and spat a small shower of sparks into the air. They were flying over the far side of the island now, and there was still no sign of Icicle.

“But,” Qibli said cautiously, “is it that big a deal? I mean, I hear animus dragons are more trouble than they’re worth. Don’t they go crazy after a while?”

“That’s true,” Moon said. “I read about a SeaWing animus who murdered almost his entire family.”

“But we knew how to handle them,” Winter scoffed. “We perfected the use of animus power. IceWings were the first tribe to figure out that too much use can damage the dragon’s soul. So we were very careful with our animus dragons. We bred them into the royal line, watched each potential animus from hatching, and trained them carefully so they would understand their limits.

“Each IceWing animus spent years planning his or her one great enchantment. They could use their power just once, to create something that would benefit the whole tribe. Prince Arctic was only days away from his gifting ceremony when the NightWings kidnapped him.”

“Wait,” Qibli said. “What happened if an animus didn’t do what he was told? What if he wanted to use his power for something else? Or what if he didn’t want to marry whatever princess was chosen for him?”

“I don’t understand the question,” Winter said. “It is obviously an honor to marry into the royal IceWing lineage.”

“But if you take away all of a dragon’s choices …” Qibli trailed off.

“Stop being obtuse,” Winter shouted. “You are missing the point entirely. Prince Arctic was our animus heritage, and everything would be different if the NightWings hadn’t stolen and killed him.”

“I’m just wondering if there’s another side to the story,” Qibli suggested, shrugging his wings.

“No,” Winter said. “There isn’t.”

“What I’m wondering is why you’re still so mad about it,” Kinkajou interjected. “It sounds like it happened hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Isn’t it time to move on? Who cares about all that ancient history?”

“It’s not ancient history to us,” Winter growled. “We still live with the consequences every day.”

“But you can’t blame the NightWings who are alive now — it wasn’t their idea,” she argued. “And it’s not like you can get your vengeance on Foeslayer or Darkstalker.”

Moon dropped suddenly down toward the fortress. Startled and irritated, Winter had to wheel around in midair to follow her. When they caught up, she was sitting in the mouth of a half-caved-in tunnel, peering into the darkness.

“I don’t think this is right,” she said as they all landed next to her. “This isn’t the lost city of night in the prophecy.”

“It isn’t?” Kinkajou said. “Why not?”

“There was a city before this one,” Moon said. “The NightWings used to live somewhere on the continent, back in Darkstalker’s time. But they fled their city after he was — once he was gone — and they came here. To hide from him, in case he ever came back.” She cast an odd, worried look at Winter. “I think that’s the city we need to find. The ancient one, the one that’s really lost.”

“Oh,” Kinkajou said. “You couldn’t have maybe mentioned that a bit sooner?”

“Sorry,” Moon said. “I was hoping this would work.”

“So we don’t have to go look for a dreamvisitor in there?” Qibli said, nodding toward the tunnel. “Because I am all in favor of not going into the creepy smoking lava-filled tunnel.”

“Me too,” Moon agreed, “except that I thought I heard … maybe …”

“Icicle?” Winter demanded. “You think she’s in there?”

“I’m not sure,” Moon said, but at almost the same time, they all heard a strange scrrrrrrrape sound from deep inside the volcano.

“Oh dear,” Kinkajou whispered. “Now I’m really wishing we had saved the ancient evil dragon stories for somewhere less spooky.”

Scrrrrrrrrape.

Scrrrrrrrape.

Scrrrrrrape.

Winter was sure a moment before Moon turned to him with wide eyes. He saw the glint of silver-pale scales shimmering toward him as a figure crawled slowly out of the dark tunnel.

It was Icicle. They’d found her at last.