Nox hovered on a thermal, his wings ruffling in the rising warm air, and studied the town below.

“Looks quiet enough,” he commented.

“It’s so small,” said Ellie, flitting just above him. “What if there isn’t anyone there with wingrot? No one’s going to listen to us if we can’t show them the skystone’s power first.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

They spiraled downward, gliding out of the warm thermal and into the cooler air. Nox kept an eye on Ellie the whole way; they’d been flying for nearly a week since they’d left the Clay, and he knew her leg hurt more than she let on.

But her wings seemed steady enough as they landed a short distance outside the town. The day was hot; he’d already sweated through his clothes. Though they’d left the jungle behind days ago, the heat seemed to only be getting worse. The land here flowed in endless plains of golden grass. They’d gone two full days without seeing a single tree or river. How anyone lived out here, he couldn’t imagine.

Ellie leaned on her lockstave while Nox took out the Clandoms map the Macaws had given them. He had no idea how it had ended up in the Clay, but according to the notation in the corner, it had been drawn by a cartographer in Thelantis.

“This place isn’t even labeled,” he said. “We don’t know its name.”

“Then I guess,” Ellie said, prodding him with her staff, “we’ll just have to ask!”

“All right, all right. Don’t break your leg all over again.”

“If I do, it’ll be from kicking your butt into motion. Honestly, why are you so jittery?”

“Excuse me, but I happen to have an entire army after my head and here I am prancing back into their territory. I think I’ve earned the right to be jittery.”

“Got the skystones?”

He patted the satchel on his belt for the hundredth time since they’d set out, and sighed.

“Okay, then.” Ellie breathed in. “Let’s do this.”

“Remember our fake names?”

“I’m Tabby and you’re Cor … Um.”

“Cornelian.”

“Right. Cornelian.” She pronounced the name with a stuffy aristocratic accent, rolling her eyes. “Really, Nox? Sounds like some dopey high clanner with feathers for brains.”

“It does not!” He sulked. “It sounds … daring. Like some noble outlaw.”

“It’s so long and flowery. I’m going to forget it. Just you watch.”

“Let’s get on with it, please? My wings are tired.”

A farmhouse sat outside the town, surrounded by fields of potato plants. It looked like a normal home, and he supposed it likely wasn’t a Goldwing trap. Still, Nox insisted on circling the entire stead before finally approaching the door.

Ellie knocked and was answered by a middle-aged man with short brown wings flecked with white. His face was leathery and dry, his beard full. He peered at them suspiciously, not opening the door more than a crack.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Hello!” Ellie put on a winning smile. “I’m Tabby and this is, uh, Corn … cob.”

“Corncob?” echoed the farmer.

Nox barely refrained from smacking his face. Ellie gave him a defiant I told you I’d forget it look.

The potato farmer looked them up and down, his expression not changing. “What do you want?”

“Well, sir, I’m glad you asked. Y’see, the thing is, we’re doctors—I mean, we’re assistants to doctors, doing research.”

Nox rolled his eyes. He could see the nervous sweat running down the Sparrow girl’s neck. The speech had been written by Gussie, but it seemed no amount of practice would erase Ellie’s inability to tell even the weakest lie. If the world depended on this Sparrow convincing people she’d eaten oats for breakfast instead of seedbread, they’d all be doomed.

Resigned, he stepped forward to take over.

“We’re apprenticed to doctors in Thelantis who are studying the spread of wingrot, trying to determine its cause. We’re going town to town to document cases and report back.”

The farmer peered at him more closely, as if trying to see through his words to their real intentions. But he didn’t seem to have Twig’s gift because finally his demeanor shifted as he smiled warmly.

“Why don’t you two come inside? You must have been flying for some time to reach Quail clan country. I’ll pour cold water for you.”

“Thanks!” chirped Ellie.

The interior of the house was dim and dusty. It looked like no one had cleaned in months. Mud was tracked all over the floors, and the table he had them sit at was covered in stains and dirty dishes.

“So you’re tracking wingrot, eh?” The farmer set down two cups of water.

“That’s right,” said Nox, taking out the ledger and pencil Gussie had said would make them look more official. “So, is there anyone in your town who might have it?”

“Hmm.” The farmer moved around the kitchen, rummaging in drawers. “Can’t say as there is, Corncob.”

“Oh.” Ellie’s face fell. “I mean—good! That’s good. Of course we don’t want people to be sick. That would be completely messed up, right?”

Great, now she was babbling.

Nox intervened again, while inwardly wondering if every town they came to would be as awkward as this. “If you could point us to the next town, then, we’ll be off. Research must go on and all that.”

“What’s this?” The farmer finally turned around, holding a long butcher knife. “But it’d be a shame for you to run off so soon, Nox Hatcher.”

Nox jolted to his feet, but not before the farmer put his knife against Ellie’s neck.

“How—” Nox gasped. “Don’t hurt her!”

“I know who you are, boy,” the farmer growled. “Just as I know what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done?” Nox echoed. His head was reeling. How did this farmer in the back of nowhere know his real name? And what he looked like?

“Brenn!” called the farmer. “Quint! Get out here!”

Nox heard the tramping of heavy boots above, and then two burly boys about five years older than him came downstairs. They were identical, each with a shaggy thatch of blond hair and a round, stubbled chin.

“What’s going on, Pop?” said one, ogling.

“Get that poster the knight left!” ordered the farmer. “Quick!”

One of the boys went to a drawer and pulled out a grease-stained paper while the other gaped with his mouth open, his small eyes darting from Nox to Ellie to the knife in his father’s hand.

“Give it here, boy.” The farmer grabbed the paper and held it up. “Aye, that’s him, all right. The scum that killed your mother.”

Nox choked. “I didn’t kill anyone!”

The farmer turned the paper, and there Nox saw a sketch of himself, rendered in blocky woodcut print. His name was emblazoned across the top, along with the words WANTED FOR INSTIGATING GARGOL ATTACKS!

“My wife was taken in broad daylight,” said the farmer, his voice hoarse with rage. “No clouds, not even a strong wind. Because you stirred them up. Now they strike out of blue skies, tear open houses, maiming and destroying and slaughtering!”

Not wanting to startle the man into doing something rash with that knife, Nox slowly raised his hands. “Look, I’m sorry about your wife. But I didn’t do that. I’m just a kid!”

“A kid who led a host of gargols to attack the king’s own men!”

Nox’s eyes met Ellie’s; she winced.

So that was what this was about. The Crag. He had caused a horde of gargols to attack the prison, but he didn’t see how …

He sucked in a breath.

Clearly, the abnormal gargol attacks were happening across the Clandoms as well, and King Garion must have been circulating posters that blamed Nox for it. But was it just a wild lie to turn the people against Nox and induce them to turn him over to the Eagles?

Or … was the king, wittingly or unwittingly, telling the truth?

Until now, it hadn’t occurred to Nox that the reason the gargols might be ramping up attacks could be connected to his crew’s trips to the islands in the sky. But what if they were? What if setting foot in Tirelas had violated some ancient treaty or law, and now the increase in gargol raids was the consequence?

Horror curdled his stomach.

Still, he wasn’t just going to let some potato farmer turn him over to the Goldwings.

“Tie him up, Brenn!” the farmer ordered. “We’ll see justice for your mother yet.”

One of the twins lumbered toward Nox, who darted another glance at Ellie.

She nodded once, her eyes hard.

Just as Brenn reached out to grab Nox, he ducked and rolled, and Ellie’s wings shot open, knocking aside the farmer’s hand long enough for her to scramble away.

“Stop them!” the farmer roared. “Boys! Grab the little rats!”

Ellie snatched her lockstave and jabbed one of the twins in the eye. He fell back, howling. But she couldn’t run on her broken leg. Nox searched his pockets for a distraction.

Inwardly thanking Gussie for her forethought, he took out a clay ball she’d crafted in the Macaw clan pottery and hurled it to the floor. It shattered, releasing a cloud of dark smoke that quickly filled the house, blinding them all.

“Ellie!” He reached for her, and her arm came stretching out of the smoke. Pulling her behind him, he made for the door while the farmer and his sons coughed and cursed behind them.

Spilling outside, Nox immediately took to his wings. Ellie was just behind him. They tore for open sky, searching for a swift wind to carry them.

“They’re following,” Ellie called out.

Nox looked back but saw the Quails were struggling to give chase. Their wings were too short to keep up, and Nox and Ellie’s were as strong as they’d ever been after weeks of flying. Even with his clipped flight feathers, Nox easily outpaced them. It wasn’t long before the Quails and their town faded into the landscape.

Finally, they felt safe enough to glide, letting their muscles rest.

Ellie sighed. “Nox, this is a problem.”

“I know.”

“If those goons could recognize you that fast, no town in the Clandoms will be safe for you.”

Nox let out a wordless growl of anger. If everyone believed he was responsible for colluding with the gargols, they wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to bring him in.

He wasn’t just hunted by the Goldwings now.

He was hunted by every person in the Clandoms.