text: They returned through the winding interior of the palace instead of flying in the storm again. There was enough lightning outside at this point that most sensible dragons were staying safely indoors. Wharf stomped behind Fathom and Darkstalker, dripping on the white carpets, clearly grumpy about being forced to do his actual job.
  
  Fathom had a feeling something was wrong as he approached his room, although he wasn't sure why. Everything seemed normal from the outside. It was very quiet, but that wasn't surprising, with only Indigo inside.
  
  Still, a strange worried sensation was crawling up the back of his throat as he pushed open the inside door and realized that the room was completely dark.
  
  "Indigo?" he called.
  
  "She's not here," Wharf said, although that would have been obvious even without their night vision. The room felt abandoned, like a snail shell with the snail sucked out of it. Beside the balcony, the curtains wafted in and out. Darkstalker stepped inside first and glanced around curiously.
  
  "But … where would she go?" Fathom asked.
  
  "Hunting?" Wharf guessed. "Swimming? Out for a walk? Gone to give her letter to the messengers?"
  
  Those were all reasonable guesses, if it hadn't been pouring outside, but Fathom had a distinctly unreasonable feeling about this.
  
  "Wharf, go check the kitchen and the messenger center," he said. "Um. Please."
  
  "All right," Wharf said with a long, drawn-out sigh.
  
  As the door closed behind the guard, Fathom crossed to the balcony and peered out at the furious downpour. Indigo wouldn't have gone out for any reason in this weather, surely.
  
  Behind him, Darkstalker breathed a burst of flame to light the lamps by the door and the two candles over the fireplace. Fathom heard him walk across the room and then pause. A moment later, Darkstalker let out a small murmur of surprise, and Fathom turned around.
  
  Darkstalker had picked up the lamp on the desk and now stood there, looking down at something.
  
  "What is it?" Fathom asked, hurrying over.
  
  His friend pointed at a damp, torn scrap of scroll lying on the desk. On top of it, holding it down, was the wooden SeaWing Fathom had carved, and the handwriting on the paper was clearly Indigo's.
  
   Fathom,
  
   I'm sorry. You were right. I don't feel safe here. It's not worth the risk. I don't
  
   I'm going home.
  
   Please don't use your magic to find me.
  
   Good luck.
  
   Indigo
  
  The earth dropped out from below Fathom's talons. He was floating over an abyss, all the light suddenly hollowed out of the world.
  
  His eyes were stuck on the crossed-out words. "I don't …" what? Love you? Want to be with you? Trust you anymore?
  
  How could she leave like that?
  
  Without saying good-bye?
  
  It didn't feel like something she would do at all.
  
  But maybe it was the smart choice. This was what he'd wanted her to do, wasn't it? Get far away from him, so she could live a normal life?
  
  Still.
  
  He couldn't believe she was gone.
  
  "Sorry, Fathom," Darkstalker said sympathetically. "She was a really great bodyguard."
  
  Fathom nodded, too shocked to respond. He picked up the SeaWing carving and traced the curve of her neck. She really looked so much like Indigo.
  
  "Hey, Darkstalker," he said, "would you — would you mind if I keep this, actually?"
  
  It seemed like Darkstalker hesitated for the briefest moment, but Fathom must have imagined it, because almost immediately the NightWing nodded and pulled Fathom into a hug.
  
  "Of course," Darkstalker said. "Of course you can keep it, if that's what you want. Although — things that remind you of her probably aren't going to make you feel better."
  
  "I know," Fathom said, but he set it back on his desk anyway. He needed it there. Maybe it would hurt to look at it, but it would also remind him that Indigo was out in the world, having adventures and a great life, somewhere where she didn't have to worry about animus magic or what Fathom might do.
  
  I'm on my own now, he realized. Well, sort of — at least he still had Darkstalker and Clearsight. They still believed in him.
  
  If Indigo didn't anymore, that was only logical.
  
  He sighed. This was probably for the best.
  
  At least she was safe now, wherever she was. Safe from him … and safe from animus magic forever.
  
  "You can see the whole Great Diamond from up here," Listener said, stretching her long neck to peer out Clearsight's window. "By the Scorching, is the entire tribe coming to this festival?"
  
  "No." Clearsight peeked over her shoulder. The enormous piazza below them looked like it was swarming with fireflies. In the lights from the hundreds of lanterns, she could see dragons everywhere. "Don't forget all the soldiers out defending the kingdom." Testing out Darkstalker's new fire-shooting weapons, she thought with a wince.
  
  "All right, gloomy snout," Listener said. "I can't believe I'm getting ready for the jubilee in the queen's own palace! I knew it would be a good idea to make you my best friend. This is going to be the greatest night of all time."
  
  "It's just another party," Clearsight said, laughing. "The queen seems to have one every other night. There's a full moon, let's celebrate! A second full moon, celebrate again! Her oldest son's hatching day, time for a party! One of her daughters sneezed, someone alert the chefs we need a cake! It's kind of exhausting."
  
  "Oh, you poor thing," Listener said. "Living in the palace, eating truffles with the queen, burdened with all these beautiful necklaces." She cast a sidelong glance at the tangle of jewelry in the wooden box beside Clearsight's mirror.
  
  "You goose. You can borrow anything you want," Clearsight said.
  
  "Really?" Listener bounded over and started fishing out long sparkling chains. "Oooo, I wonder what Thoughtful would like. Sapphires, do you think? Or moonstones. No, you're wearing moonstones — again, I might add. Oh wow, opals!"
  
  Clearsight touched the moonstone earrings Darkstalker had given her about a month ago.
  
  "I thought they'd match your bracelet," he'd said. "Aren't they cool?"
  
  "I love them," she'd answered, cupping them in her talons. "They don't have any spells on them, right?"
  
  "That is SUCH A RUDE QUESTION." He'd given her his most injured expression. "Thank you SO MUCH for your faith in me. You are WELCOME to check the scroll and see, if you really think I would do that."
  
  "No, no," she'd said, clipping them on. "I was just asking, don't get all huffy." They were beautiful earrings. And they made her feel all sparkly and hopeful, but not in a fake magical enchanted way. (Still, she did check the scroll later, when he was out picking up dinner, just to be sure, although she felt extremely guilty about it. And there were no moonstone earring spells, so basically she was a terrible dragon for even suspecting him for a moment. Poor Darkstalker.)
  
  "Wait," she said to Listener. "Who's Thoughtful?"
  
  Listener hesitated, holding a web of opals up to her neck. "I guess you're going to meet him tonight anyway." She scrunched her eyes shut. "He's the dragon I'm going to marry. Fix your face, fix your face!"
  
  "I'm not making a face!" Clearsight objected. "I'm having zero visions at all right now, I promise. But aren't we a bit young for marriage plans?"
  
  "I mean one day, after we graduate and I propose. There are a few steps we haven't gotten to yet, but we will!"
  
  "Steps like …" Clearsight prompted her.
  
  "Like … doing things together," Listener confessed. "And him realizing he loves me."
  
  "Listener, have you actually ever spoken to this dragon?" Clearsight asked.
  
  "Yes!" Listener drew herself up, looking offended, although the effect was muddled by the sixteen necklaces she was trying to fit over her head at the same time. "He said, 'Excuse me, is this the way to the strawberry garden?' and I said, 'It certainly is!' and he said, 'Thank you' and I said, 'Are you going to the jubilee festival tonight?' and he said, 'Urgh, I suppose I have to,' and I said, 'Cool, see you there!' so, obviously, we are destined to be together forever. Don't you dare tell me otherwise!"
  
  "I wouldn't dream of it," Clearsight said. "I didn't say one word about the last disaster, did I?"
  
  "I didn't even let you meet the last one," Listener said. "You're thinking of the one before that, and no, you never said anything, you just looked like you'd eaten a bucket full of limes every time you saw him."
  
  Clearsight sighed. "I don't see what would be wrong with letting me nudge you toward a decent dragon once in a while."
  
  "I can find my soulmate on my own, thank you very much," said Listener. "In fact, I have, and his name is Thoughtful, and he's absolutely dashing."
  
  "Wonderful," Clearsight said, resolutely not looking at Listener's timelines. She was getting better at that — at avoiding the things she didn't want to see.
  
  That was easier to do when she spent most of her time studying the war with the IceWings for Queen Vigilance. There were so many small things that could change the course of a battle, or wreck a carefully crafted plan, or spin a formation into panicked chaos. She thought the information she fed the queen was helping, but it was hard to tell, as the queen was not exactly prone to effusive gratitude. But at least she'd managed to do enough so far to delay the most horrible new animus plans.
  
  "All right, I'm ready," Listener said. She grinned at Clearsight, twinkling with gemstones and excitement.
  
  I hope this dragon is worth it this time, Clearsight thought.
  
  Together they hurried to one of the grand balconies and launched themselves into the sky, swooping down toward the plaza below them. Listener found a clear spot to land near the food tents, where the cold air crackled with the smell of roasting meat, sizzling onions, and fried bananas. The queen's favorite musicians were playing somewhere, but the music was drowned out by all the laughing, chattering dragons. An intricate lacework of wires traced over the whole diamond, hung with paper lanterns that had been painted bright gold and purple and green by the kingdom's dragonets.
  
  But the highlight of the festival was the glasswork competition, in honor of what Queen Vigilance was calling her Glass Jubilee to celebrate forty years of her being on the throne. The entire plaza was dotted with elaborate glass sculptures that glowed in the lamplight. Twisting spirals, weaving tendrils, and delicate beads mingled with glorious bells and vast shipwrecks, towering trees and clusters of captured fireworks. Clearsight wished she could run her talons over every smooth or bubbly surface. She wished she could change her scales to the same shimmering colors as the glass, like a RainWing might.
  
  "Let's go find Fathom," she said. She knew he was here somewhere with Darkstalker. They were supposed to meet near the musicians before midnight, but she wanted to find them sooner.
  
  "Your pet SeaWing?" Listener said. "Do we have to?"
  
  "He's the sweetest dragon, if you'd just give him a chance," Clearsight said. "And he's lonely here." Especially since Indigo left. He tries to hide it, but he's so, so sad without her. How could she do that to him? I thought she cared about him as more than a bodyguard, but I guess I was wrong.
  
  "I highly doubt that," said Listener, "considering that you spend practically every waking moment with him." She tossed her head indignantly, but followed Clearsight through the crowd without further complaint.
  
  They navigated around a group of dancing NightWings and through a forest of tall, copper-colored glass spikes. Clearsight guessed that Fathom would want to be in the quietest corner of the festival — he was better at handling parties now that he'd been to so many of the queen's gatherings, but they still made him a little jittery.
  
  She was right. Fathom, Darkstalker, and Whiteout were inside one of the game pavilions, playing scales-and-squares on a small board near the central fire. Lionfish stood guard beside them, watching the NightWings around him with a wary expression. Long white curtains hung around the outside of the pavilion, muffling the noise from the rest of the festival and sheltering the fire and the games from the wind.
  
  Listener wrinkled her snout when she saw them. "Playing board games at a festival?" she snorted. "How lame can you THERE HE IS!" She clutched Clearsight's arm frantically.
  
  "What?" Clearsight said, startled.
  
  "That's Thoughtful," Listener whispered, hiding behind Clearsight's wing. "The one with the scroll tower."
  
  Clearsight glanced around the pavilion and finally spotted the dragon Listener was talking about. He was playing a game by himself that involved stacking small marble scrolls into increasingly complex towers according to a set of patterns. As far as lame solitary party games went, it was kind of at the top, frankly.
  
  He was handsome — of course, since he had caught Listener's eye — but he had a sort of kindness and worry in his expression that made him different from her usual choices. Silver wires wound around his horns and down his forehead, suspending a circle of glass in front of each of his eyes. He looked tired and very focused on what he was doing.
  
  "Isn't he wonderful?" Listener said dreamily.
  
  Oh dear, Clearsight thought, looking at the dragon and feeling the undertow of visions pulling her away. Oh no …
  
  Two clear futures lay before this NightWing.
  
  One was easy and unremarkable — a pleasant-enough life with someone who loved him more than he loved her, where both of them felt vaguely unsatisfied all the time, but at least nobody died.
  
  The second was harder and darker, but in it waited great love, and on it depended futures too far distant for even Clearsight to understand.
  
  Listener was not that great love.
  
  Unlike her previous crushes, this dragon could actually be hers, if nobody intervened. But he shouldn't be. He was meant for someone else.
  
  Clearsight slammed a blank expression on her face. Don't react. Don't let her see what you're thinking.
  
  What am I going to do?
  
  Do I let Listener have this kind, worried dragon, or do I interfere and disrupt both of their timelines … in ways probably neither of them would thank me for?
  
  "Are you going to say hello?" she asked her friend, in what she thought was a commendably calm voice.
  
  Listener shot her a suspicious glance anyway. "Not yet," she said. "I'll give him a chance to notice me and come over first. Let's go say hi to your weirdo friends."
  
  Darkstalker looked up as they approached, his whole face alight with joy.
  
  "You look like you're winning," Clearsight said, sprawling on the cushion beside him.
  
  "I'm winning at life," he said exuberantly, twining his tail around hers. He hadn't looked this happy since Foeslayer was captured, although he'd been gradually coming back to normal every day. She touched his face and wondered if something had happened. Had he enchanted something to make himself feel happier — to help him move on from mourning Foeslayer? If he did, would that be wrong?
  
  "In this turn of the hourglass, yes," said Whiteout, moving one of her green scale tokens to capture a black square of Fathom's. "But when I crush you with my heart piece, then everything flips."
  
  "Don't you even know what you're playing?" Listener asked her. "This game doesn't have a heart piece."
  
  "Did you see the Sunrise Ferns?" Fathom asked Clearsight. "Those were my favorite."
  
  "I haven't really looked around yet," she said. "Maybe when you guys are done with this game we can all go check out the sculptures."
  
  "And get something to eat," Darkstalker suggested. "I wouldn't mind, like, six goats on sticks right now."
  
  "We don't have to go anywhere YET, though," Listener said, poking Clearsight meaningfully.
  
  "Just go talk to him," Clearsight whispered.
  
  "He's already looked at us twice," Listener hissed back. "He'll come over any moment now."
  
  "Aha!" Fathom chortled, seizing one of Darkstalker's white squares. "I have totally figured out your mystifying game. I am the new scales-and-squares champion!"
  
  "Ooooh, sorry, friend," Darkstalker said. He hopped a blue scale over three of Fathom's squares and swept them off the board. "Too slow, so sad."
  
  Listener suddenly dug her claws into Clearsight's shoulder.
  
  "OW," Clearsight protested.
  
  "Act normal!" Listener barked. "Not weird! Totally completely normal!"
  
  "You mean like you are?" Clearsight observed, rubbing her shoulder.
  
  "Hey," said a deep voice behind her.
  
  Clearsight and Darkstalker both turned around, and Fathom looked up. Listener's wings fluttered unconsciously and she whacked Clearsight's tail with her own about eighty times in rapid succession.
  
  "Hey," Darkstalker said, sounding guarded. "I know you from … music class? You're Thoughtful, right?"
  
  "Yeah." Thoughtful's gaze bounced off Listener and skidded around the others. "I just, uh — I just wondered if anyone wanted to try a scroll tower challenge with me."
  
  Listener looked as though she had lightning darting along her wings. "Maybe," she said coyly, starting to stand up.
  
  Argh, Clearsight thought. I have to do it. I have to. Listener's going to kill me, but it's too important. And it'll only get harder if I don't do it right now.
  
  "I'm Clearsight," she said, smiling at Thoughtful. "Our SeaWing friend is Fathom, and" — she took a deep breath — "and have you, um … have you met Whiteout?"
  
  "WINNER!" Whiteout shouted, nearly overturning the board as she hopped one of her scales around it. "Empress of all scales and queen of all squares! Weep for your tokens, adversaries!" She sat up, clapping her talons gleefully, and finally spotted Thoughtful, who was looking at her in a vaguely rapt way.
  
  "Oh," she said with wonder. "Look how shiny you are."
  
  "Shiny?" Listener said, snorting a fake laugh. "Whiteout, what are you ever talking about?"
  
  "You made the Cascade of Dreams," Whiteout said, ignoring Listener. She reached out, took one of Thoughtful's talons, and squinted at his palm. "Words and glass, spun flutes and verse. Waterfalls of language in fire-blown claws."
  
  "What?" Listener said uneasily.
  
  "You noticed?" Thoughtful said, tilting his head at Whiteout. "No one — you really saw the pieces of scroll inside the waves?"
  
  "Tangerine," Whiteout said. "Probability. Spelunking."
  
  "OK, now you're literally just saying random words," Listener said.
  
  "I can't believe you saw them!" Thoughtful said. "Nobody's ever understood one of my pieces before."
  
  "I think you should teach me glassblowing," Whiteout said, "and I should teach you clarity."
  
  "WHAT. Is she being ironic?" Listener asked Clearsight.
  
  Thoughtful ducked his head, glanced down at the board, and shot a shy smile at Whiteout. "How is the empress of scales at scroll tower?"
  
  "Amazing," said Whiteout. "You're going to die of awe." She rose, shook out her strange white wings, and led the way back to the other side of the tent with Thoughtful close beside her, beaming.
  
  Clearsight couldn't believe how well that had worked, with such a small nudge from her. They really were destined for each other. Hiding a smile, she turned away from her friends and noticed movement behind one of the curtains. It was Darkstalker's father, Arctic, watching them all with a grim look on his face.
  
  "Um, what just happened?" Listener demanded. "Can anyone explain that to me?"
  
  Don't figure it out, Clearsight prayed. Don't blame me.
  
  But before Listener could turn accusing eyes on Clearsight; before anyone could answer her question; before Clearsight could come up with a distraction, a dragon tore through the curtains, vaulted into the pavilion, and drove a spear into Darkstalker's heart.
  
  What Fathom saw was a bolt of steel flashing past; he heard curtains rip and Listener screaming and ivory pieces cascading across the wood floor.
  
  No. Not again. Not again.
  
  He saw Darkstalker stagger back, looking stricken.
  
  I can't lose anyone else.
  
  He saw Lionfish tackle the assassin, who roared and slashed at his face with iron-tipped claws. He leaped forward to help, but by the time he reached Lionfish's side, the attacker was dead. The unfamiliar NightWing lay at his feet, his neck twisted in a horrible unnatural way.
  
  "Darkstalker?" Clearsight was still standing, frozen, reaching one talon toward her soulmate. "What — how —?"
  
  Fathom took a step back from Lionfish and the dead dragon, and he saw the spear lying on the floor, and he saw that the polished wood was clean, and there was no blood, and then, finally, after all that, he saw that Darkstalker's scales were smooth and unblemished, and his friend was completely unhurt.
  
  "That's impossible!" Listener shrieked, nearly in hysterics. "He killed you! I saw it! He killed you!"
  
  Darkstalker spread his wings, revealing the glimmer of the ice scales underneath. "I guess he missed."
  
  "He didn't miss!" Listener backed away, pointing at Clearsight. "You saw it, too. Didn't you? Didn't you? That spear should have gone right into his heart."
  
  "I —" Clearsight glanced at the gathering crowd, then at Darkstalker again. "I don't know what I saw."
  
  Listener roared with frustration, darted out of the pavilion, and shoved her way through the gathering crowd until it swallowed her up.
  
  "It's nothing," Darkstalker said. "Really," he added to all the watching dragons. "This pathetic lizard tried to kill me and failed. Nothing to panic about." He stepped over to examine the corpse at Lionfish's feet. "I would like to know who this is, though."
  
  "And why he tried to kill you," Clearsight added.
  
  Darkstalker's eyes slanted sideways at Lionfish for a moment. "Too bad he's dead and can't answer any questions."
  
  Lionfish shrugged. "Sorry," he said without a shred of actual repentance. He looked rather pleased that he'd finally had a chance to do some actual bodyguarding.
  
  "I don't know him," Clearsight said, edging away from the dead dragon. She looked at the far corner of the pavilion and frowned slightly, as if she'd expected to see someone there.
  
  Darkstalker turned to Whiteout and Thoughtful, who had rushed back over. "Do either of you know him?"
  
  "I do," Thoughtful said. "By reputation, anyway. His name is Quickdeath and he was — well, you can guess."
  
  "A killer for hire?" Clearsight said. "Are you saying somebody sent him to kill Darkstalker?"
  
  Darkstalker put one wing around her. "But he failed. See, I'm so fine. Don't be scared."
  
  "Don't be — what if that somebody tries again?" Clearsight demanded. She touched her head. "I can't see exactly … I feel like there are very bad things branching from here, but they're all blurry. I don't know how they fit together, or what comes from what."
  
  "We'll figure out who hired Quickdeath," said Darkstalker. "That's easy. And then we stop them from trying again." His eyes went cold and hard, like onyx beads. "Trust me, that'll be even easier."
  
  Fathom had never seen his friend look so much like his grandfather. He shivered and sank onto one of the cushions, realizing that his wings were shaking. He had to keep it together, especially in front of all these NightWings. It seemed as though hundreds of them were emerging from the dark, pressing toward the edge of the pavilion to see what the commotion was. Everyone stared at Darkstalker, whispering to one another.
  
  How had he survived? What had stopped the spear?
  
  Lionfish poked Fathom. "We should get you back to the castle," he said. "In case there's a second attack."
  
  "He wasn't after me," Fathom pointed out.
  
  "Maybe not this time," he said, "but let's get somewhere safe, just in case."
  
  "Yes," Darkstalker interjected. "I'd like to get out of here as well." He nudged Quickdeath's body with one talon, frowning as though he were wondering whether he could do something useful with it. "Thoughtful, can you stay here and watch the body until we send someone from the queen's guard to investigate?"
  
  "Sure," said Thoughtful.
  
  "I'll stay with him," said Whiteout. "Protect him from angry spirits."
  
  Thoughtful cast an uneasy glance at the ceiling, as if Quickdeath's ghost might be hovering there with its claws outstretched.
  
  Half in a daze, Fathom followed Darkstalker and Clearsight out of the pavilion. The crowd of dragons fell back before them, most of them averting their eyes, others staring openly. A pair of small dragonets took one look at Darkstalker and fled with little shrieks of alarm.
  
  "What was that for?" Darkstalker muttered grumpily. "I'm the one that got attacked!"
  
  But Fathom understood; he, too, felt a layer of fear spreading underneath his worry for his friend. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't make the pieces fit. He was sure that spear had been aimed straight and true at Darkstalker's heart. How could Quickdeath have missed so completely? And then why was the spear lying in front of Darkstalker, as if it had bounced off, instead of somewhere beyond him?
  
  A horrible suspicion was growing inside him. Darkstalker had used his magic again, somehow, even though Fathom had begged him not to.
  
  He eyed the pieces of jewelry the NightWing was wearing. Something that would protect you from any attack … he saw the appeal, of course. He had often wished he could make something like that for Indigo, before she left. But was it worth protecting someone on the outside, if doing so made yourself more dangerous on the inside?
  
  They flew back to Fathom's room in the palace, where Lionfish went inside first to make sure it was safe. Wharf was somewhere down in the festival, probably blissfully unaware that he might have been useful tonight.
  
  "All clear," Lionfish said, holding the door open.
  
  "You can go," Darkstalker said to him brusquely. "Back to the festival or wherever."
  
  Lionfish shook his head, his expression vaguely surprised. "I'm not supposed to leave Fathom alone," he said. "Indigo's orders."
  
  "He won't be alone," said Darkstalker impatiently. "He'll be with me. And if Indigo was so worried, she wouldn't have flown off and left him, right?"
  
  Fathom winced.
  
  "Yeah," Lionfish said slowly, as though he hadn't thought of that before. "Good point."
  
  "It's all right, Lionfish," Fathom said. "I'll be safe with them."
  
  Lionfish shrugged and left without any further argument.
  
  As soon as they were safely behind closed doors, Clearsight whirled on Darkstalker. "What did you do?" she demanded.
  
  "Um, survived a deadly assassination attempt?" Darkstalker said. "Hooray for me?"
  
  "Listener was right," she said. "That spear hit you exactly in the heart. There's no way you should have survived it."
  
  "You sound awfully disappointed," Darkstalker snapped back. "Is that why you didn't warn me that was going to happen? Because you were hoping it would succeed?"
  
  Her face twisted in outrage. "You jerk," she cried. "I don't know everything, all right? Minor timelines sometimes become reality before I know it, especially if other — if someone is trying to surprise me. And I'm glad you're not dead, but I want to know when you made yourself invulnerable and why you didn't tell me about it!"
  
  Fathom crossed the room and started digging in his trunk as they argued. There was something he had to know.
  
  "Isn't the more important question who tried to kill me?" Darkstalker shouted. "Shouldn't we all be like, wow, great idea, Darkstalker, we're so glad you're alive, now let's get on with hunting down the actual bad dragon in this situation?"
  
  He turned toward Fathom with his wings spread wide, as if looking for reassurance, and found Fathom pointing the soul reader at him.
  
  "SERIOUSLY?" Darkstalker shouted. "I'm the good guy here! What is wrong with you?"
  
  "You shouldn't have used your magic," Fathom said, scrunching his eyes to fight back his tears. "That's a huge spell, invulnerability. It could have tipped you over all by itself." The hourglass was spinning slowly, slowly, white and black grains mingling and diverging. Please be good, Fathom prayed. Please please please don't lose your soul.
  
  "Well, it didn't," Darkstalker snapped. "It so happens I enchanted my scales before I made the soul reader, so you'll find that your little hourglass will give you the exact same result as last time. But thank you all so much for your faith in me."
  
  The hourglass stopped. Fathom realized that Clearsight was studying it as intently as he was.
  
  If Darkstalker hadn't used his magic since the last reading, it should show the same balance of white and black sand.
  
  Did it? Fathom blinked. He wasn't sure. Was it just his imagination, or were there more white grains of sand this time than last time? Did the hourglass tilt a little more than before? Had the balance shifted slightly toward evil?
  
  Maybe he was being paranoid. It wasn't a big difference, certainly. The black sand still outweighed the white sand.
  
  So why did Clearsight look troubled as well?
  
  "There," Darkstalker said. "See? Now can we get on with tracking down my killer?"
  
  "Not with magic," Fathom said quickly. "I know that's what you're thinking. Please, Darkstalker, we can find another way. You don't need to spend your magic on this."
  
  "It's a tiny little spell," Darkstalker said dismissively. "And then we'll know for sure. Are you picturing us as stalwart detectives, following leads and interrogating suspects? I don't have time for that, if we're going to figure this out before he tries again."
  
  "You think you already know who it was," Clearsight said. She was pacing in front of the fireplace, her wings shaking.
  
  "Isn't it obvious?" Darkstalker asked. "He's wanted me dead since the moment I hatched."
  
  Clearsight hesitated. Darkstalker's expression, watching her, seemed to be waiting for something.
  
  "He was there," she said finally. "I saw him."
  
  "Who?" Fathom asked.
  
  "My father," Darkstalker said. "I know, I heard his brain muttering."
  
  "But — if he was there, why didn't he come over to make sure you were all right?" Fathom said, feeling as if he was missing something. "Why didn't he jump in to stop Quickdeath?" He felt a deep stab of the grief he usually kept buried. That's what my father would have done.
  
  "Because he hired Quickdeath," Darkstalker said. "You're really slowing this conversation down, Fathom."
  
  "Did you hear him think that?" Clearsight asked. "When you heard his thoughts — was there anything about the assassin or wanting you dead?"
  
  Darkstalker thought for a moment. "No more than usual. What I caught mostly had to do with my sister. Father hated the way she was looking at Thoughtful. He's probably the one who needs to watch out for assassins next."
  
  "So maybe it wasn't Arctic," Clearsight said. "Wouldn't he be thinking about it, if he knew it was about to happen?"
  
  "Not necessarily." Darkstalker plucked a stalk of bamboo from one of Fathom's tall vases and started methodically shredding it. "Besides, I stopped listening to him after the first few grumbles." He flung a piece of bamboo into the corner. "I'm sure it was him, but we can all be sure if I do a spell to find out."
  
  "No!" Fathom cried. "Please don't. Think about your soul. Clearsight, you agree with me, don't you?"
  
  Clearsight looked between them for a moment, rubbing her forehead. "You should tell him about the scroll," she said to Darkstalker.
  
  "Really?" He looked surprised. "You think that's a good idea?"
  
  "I think it's safe," she said. "As far as I can tell, you show it to him in all of the good timelines."
  
  "And the bad," he pointed out.
  
  "He's not the one who turns them bad," she said quietly.
  
  Darkstalker scowled at her. "Your faith in me is so heartwarming."
  
  While they argued, Fathom went to tuck the soul reader back in his trunk, and as he did, he saw a flicker of movement under his blankets.
  
  A small white tentacle lifted one corner, and small dark eyes peeked out at him.
  
  Blob!
  
  Fathom covered the little octopus quickly, although he wasn't entirely sure why he was hiding him from his friends.
  
  Why is Blob still here?
  
  He knew that Indigo had flown away without most of her stuff — he'd guessed she was in a hurry to leave before he got back. But he'd always thought she'd taken Blob with her. If she hadn't … what did that mean?
  
  Did she leave him as a message to me? To make sure I know she wants nothing more to do with me?
  
  That didn't seem like something she would do. She loved Blob, didn't she?
  
  "Fathom?" Darkstalker said behind him. "I'm trying to tell you something totally momentous over here. It'll change your life, trust me."
  
  Fathom turned to his friend with a smile, but his heart was starting to whisper anxiously.
  
  Why did Indigo decide to leave without Blob?
  
  Was there something else going on?
  
  Is there something I'm missing … and how can I find out what it is?
  
  The sun was sliding cold yellow claws over the eastern horizon as Darkstalker flew home from the palace. Below him, the detritus of the festival was being swept away by a busy flurry of worker dragons. Soon only the paper lanterns and the gleaming shapes of the glass sculptures would remain. He spotted one dragon industriously scrubbing out the game pavilion, even though Quickdeath had died bloodlessly and his body had been removed.
  
  Darkstalker beat his wings to rise higher, as close to the sun as he could manage.
  
  His talk with Fathom had not gone exactly as he'd imagined.
  
  He'd expected a little more excitement — a little more gratitude. He'd expected that Fathom would be thrilled to find a way to use his powers without damaging the soul he worried so much about. He'd rather expected Fathom to make his very own animus scroll right then and there.
  
  But instead his friend had remained stubbornly unconvinced. "It could still be affecting you," he argued. Darkstalker could see the images piling up in Fathom's mind: Albatross stabbing the queen, the dead bodies of his parents, the blood everywhere. Every time Fathom thought about animus powers, that was straight where his mind went — massacres and devastation and the loss of nearly your entire family.
  
  Not only that, but tonight his mind was suddenly occupied with the mystery of some kind of octopus. Fathom's thoughts were all Indigo, Indigo, Indigo again, just when they'd been starting to get interesting. He spent more of their conversation thinking about her than focusing on the wonderful news Darkstalker was telling him. And as he often did, he forgot to even worry about Darkstalker reading his mind.
  
  Finally Fathom had rubbed his eyes, shaking his head fiercely. "Nobody knows exactly how animus magic works. The only safe option is to avoid using it at all."
  
  "Why would we have this power if we're never supposed to use it?" Darkstalker had shouted in frustration, which was when Clearsight had decided it was time for everyone to go home and get some sleep.
  
  Whatever. If Fathom doesn't want to listen to reason, that's his problem.
  
  My problem is that someone tried to kill me tonight.
  
  He set his jaw grimly. There were plenty of future timelines where Arctic tried to kill him — but not many where he succeeded.
  
  Still, there were a few, even with Darkstalker's invulnerability. Now that Arctic surely knew about that, he'd have to plan his next attack on Darkstalker more carefully … maybe even use his own magic. Arctic, in fact, might be the only dragon in the kingdom who could actually kill Darkstalker.
  
  He should have used his power to do it right the first time.
  
  So why didn't he?
  
  Because he didn't want anyone to know it was him who killed me. Right?
  
  Darkstalker soared down toward his front door, which was just starting to turn from gray to red as the light of the sun reached it. All the flowers in their miniature hanging gardens were dead. No one had gone anywhere near them since losing Mother.
  
  He pushed open the door and found Whiteout lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling with her wings flopped out to either side of her. She was wearing one of the trinkets from the festival, a black rope necklace with a golden glass seashell pendant, turning it between her claws. He wondered if Thoughtful had bought it for her.
  
  "Good morning," he said, nudging his sister's tail affectionately. "Dreaming of your new admirer?"
  
  "Thoughtful," she said, a statement rather than a question. "Yes and no. I do like him."
  
  "Do you want me to try to foresee what will happen with you two?" Darkstalker asked. He still wasn't as good at this as Clearsight — he tended to see the most probable outcomes, and everything else was usually muddled by random events and small deviations. Perhaps if he had a lot of time to devote to studying all the futures, the way she did, he'd be able to follow them more clearly. But who had that kind of time, or that kind of focus? He'd have to be trapped underground for months with nothing else to do.
  
  "No, thank you," said Whiteout, which was such an ordinary response that Darkstalker peered at her curiously.
  
  "Are you all right?" he asked, touching her neck. It didn't feel warmer than it should.
  
  "I feel funny," she said. "All my words are coming out wrong."
  
  Actually it seemed as if they were coming out right for once, which was worrying. Darkstalker wished that he could read her mind and see what was going on in there.
  
  "Maybe you just need some sleep," he said. A small clatter from one of the back rooms distracted him. "Is Father here?"
  
  She nodded.
  
  Darkstalker stepped quietly down the hall until he was standing in the doorway to his father's room. Foeslayer's side of it still looked exactly the same, everything untouched except perhaps her blankets, which looked as though someone had been lying on them. But it was freezing cold in the room, with actual icicles hanging around Arctic's sleeping spot. He must have been using his frostbreath to make the room a bit more to his own liking.
  
  Arctic had his back to Darkstalker, fiddling with something at his desk. Fragments of ice were scattered around his feet and a piece of parchment that looked like a map stuck out from under his tail.
  
  Can't wait much longer, his brain muttered. Not sure this will be enough, though.
  
  "I'm alive," Darkstalker announced. "In case you were worried."
  
  Arctic stiffened, then cast an evil glance over his shoulder at his son. "Can't say that I was."
  
  "I know you were there," Darkstalker said. "At the pavilion. Watching."
  
  "Indeed," said Arctic, turning back to his work. "Care to explain how that spear bounced off your scales?" This one gets more dangerous all the time, he thought. Maybe I should do what Mother wants.
  
  "Did you know the dragon who attacked me?" Darkstalker asked instead of answering.
  
  His father shrugged. "I've seen him around court, but never spoken to him. I'm not interested in knowing every common NightWing in the tribe."
  
  Darkstalker paused, waiting for Quickdeath's name to appear in Arctic's thoughts. But it didn't. Arctic had a brief memory of passing Quickdeath in the halls of the palace, and that was it.
  
  Could Darkstalker be wrong? Or had Arctic finally developed the strength to shield some of his thoughts?
  
  "Why do you think he tried to kill me?" he tried.
  
  Arctic snorted. "Because you're an arrogant fool. Because you flaunt your magic and don't care who you offend. Because you insulted his mother, or stole his prey, or cheated off his test, or read his mind when he told you not to. I can think of a million possible reasons, but what does it matter? He's dead now, isn't he?"
  
  That idiot, Arctic thought, flicking his tail. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy to kill an animus dragon. Couldn't have gotten me that way, either, not if I was wearing my shielding earring.
  
  Darkstalker tipped his head. He hadn't known that his father had a "shielding earring." He wondered which one it was: the light blue diamond in his left ear, or the silver narwhal in his right.
  
  More important, these didn't sound like the thoughts of a dragon who'd just tried to have him killed. Arctic seemed more … disinterested than anything else.
  
  "You're probably right," Darkstalker said, backing out of the doorway and heading to his own room.
  
  Behind him, he heard Arctic swivel around again, thinking, Now that was suspicious. What does he mean, I'm probably right? What's that dragon hiding? And then, a few moments later, as Darkstalker was unlocking his door, Arctic thought, Better act soon, before anyone can stop me.
  
  Darkstalker paused, listening, but Arctic's thoughts didn't elaborate further. Maybe he wasn't the one who hired Quickdeath, Darkstalker thought, but it certainly sounds like he's still planning to kill me eventually.
  
  Darkstalker locked the door behind him and started pacing up and down in his room. He wished Clearsight were here, to help him figure out what to do next. What would she see Arctic doing, if she looked ahead in his timeline?
  
  Although he had to admit his faith in her powers was shaken by the attack tonight. Why hadn't she seen it coming? Who could have known enough to trick her foresight that way — and his, for that matter?
  
  He'd have to find out later what evil scheme was circling around Arctic's head. Right now all that interested him was finding his would-be killer.
  
  Who besides Arctic might want Darkstalker dead?
  
  He paused next to his desk, thinking of the last dragon who had dared to threaten his life.
  
  He remembered the cold prick of steel at his throat. The tension that hummed through her wings whenever he walked into the room. Her dark blue eyes, always watching him, as though he was the one who posed a danger to Fathom.
  
  Dragons who try to kill me don't fare too well, do they, SeaWing?
  
  He swept the clutter off his desk. Sorry, Clearsight. He had promised her he'd wait before doing any spell — that she could be there if he decided to do it. But he didn't want to wait. He hated the idea that someone was out there wishing for his death, planning to kill him … planning to derail all his glorious futures and blink all his dragonets out of existence. How dare they. He needed to find out who they were and punish them.
  
  Whoever it was had to know immediately that they couldn't do this to him and get away with it. They had to suffer the consequences as soon as possible. He was the most powerful dragon in Pyrrhia. He should act like it.
  
  He took his scroll and his secret inkwell out of their hiding place, rolled it to the newest blank spread, and weighted down the corners with little statues. Next he pulled out a scrap of parchment and set it on top of the scroll. He dipped one claw in the red ink and wrote, Enchant this parchment to reveal the name of the dragon who hired Quickdeath to kill me tonight.
  
  As he carefully wiped the ink off his claw, jagged red letters began to appear on the parchment, slowly scrawling a name across the stark white page.
  
  Darkstalker froze as he realized what it said.
  
  Oh, yes. There are definitely going to be consequences.
  
  Now I know who has to pay.
  
  Clearsight slept very poorly that morning, troubled by nightmares of horrible futures — betrayals and murders and war without end. It seemed as though all her worst possible visions were crowding through her head at once.
  
  She woke up with massive pain in her temples and jaw, as though she'd been clenching her teeth all night. The sun stabbed sharply through a gap in the thick curtains, pouncing on her eyeballs and setting them ablaze. She covered her head with a pillow and tried to find a timeline with an instant miracle cure for headaches in it.
  
  Drinking water would help. So would breakfast. Hiding under the covers for the rest of the day would not.
  
  She got up, taking deep breaths, and adjusted her moonstone earrings, which had slipped half off in the night. She had to remember: sometimes dreams were just dreams, not visions of the future. Even if it felt like the end of the world, the argument last night didn't have to be the beginning of a horrible spiral into darkness.
  
  And if it was, she could stop it. She wouldn't let the darkness come for her and her friends. As long as Darkstalker listened to her — and he would, in almost every timeline she could see now — everything would be all right.
  
  Clearsight stumbled to the window that looked over the inner courtyards of the palace. She twitched the curtains aside and peered out at the garden below. It was after midday, and not many dragons were down there, but she spotted a line of royal guards blocking off one section — and beyond them, a pair of NightWings, walking and talking close together.
  
  One was obviously the queen. The other … Clearsight recognized the long neck and sharp-edged bones from afar.
  
  That was Allknowing — Queen Vigilance's fired seer.
  
  What was she doing here?
  
  Clearsight rubbed her eyes and splashed water on her face, then hurried down to the garden, taking the stairs instead of flying, so it wouldn't look as if she was swooping in on the queen's private conversation.
  
  The guards saw her coming and one of them called to the queen. "Your other seer is here, Your Majesty."
  
  Queen Vigilance poked her head around a rosebush and eyed Clearsight. "I see," she said. "Any new visions?"
  
  "Not about the war, Your Majesty," Clearsight said with a bow. "Not in the last day. My previous predictions still stand."
  
  "Really," said the queen. She beckoned Clearsight forward until the three of them — Vigilance, Clearsight, and Allknowing — were ensconced inside the rose bower. Allknowing smirked down at Clearsight. Her flicking tail caught a few yellow roses and ripped them loose, scattering petals like drops of gold everywhere.
  
  "So," the queen hissed to Clearsight. "A question for you. Have you ever had any visions about your truly beloved?"
  
  "About — you mean about Darkstalker?" Clearsight blinked with surprise. Of course she'd had hundreds, thousands of visions about Darkstalker … including several the queen would surely quite like to know about. But those were the ones that weren't going to happen.
  
  She could still tell part of the truth, though. "Most of my visions about Darkstalker have to do with our future together," she hedged. "I've had visions of our dragonets, of our future home near the palace, of the ways in which we both keep using our powers to serve you."
  
  "And have you seen how I die?" the queen demanded.
  
  Chills slid along Clearsight's neck and spread through her scales. What had Allknowing told her?
  
  "I've seen a few possibilities," she said carefully.
  
  "Oh, yes?" said the queen. "Not worth mentioning, were they?"
  
  "They're all so far into the future," Clearsight protested. "It'll be another ten years before one of your daughters has the courage to challenge you, and the probability of her winning is very low."
  
  "Hmm," said Queen Vigilance. Her suspicious look encompassed both of her seers now. "And of all my death scenes, which comes the soonest?"
  
  Clearsight tried. She closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could, looking for the darkest paths, which made her realize she hadn't had any visions of Darkstalker in his twisted crown for at least a month. She'd assumed … she'd hoped that meant it had fallen out of the realm of possibility. That maybe Darkstalker's recent contentment was real, and everyone was going to be safe.
  
  Now, searching for it as intently as she could, flashes began appearing behind her eyes: Darkstalker, the crown, the dead queen — but she couldn't keep them there. They flashed away as soon as she tried to look at them or piece them into the web of the future.
  
  "Don't hurt yourself," Allknowing sneered. Clearsight opened her eyes and looked at her former teacher. How could Allknowing have a vision of Darkstalker doing something terrible when Clearsight couldn't see it?
  
  "Share your mumbo jumbo," Queen Vigilance ordered her former seer, flicking Allknowing in the face with her tail.
  
  Allknowing cleared her throat and fluffed her wings importantly.
  
   "Hatched of ice and hatched of night
  
   Cursed with moons all shining bright
  
   Longs for power not his own
  
   Comes to steal your very throne."
  
  Queen Vigilance snorted. "Remarkably clear. For the first time ever." Her pitch-black eyes narrowed at Clearsight. "Any of that ring a bell?"
  
  "She's making it up!" Clearsight protested. "Darkstalker wouldn't do that!"
  
  "Why should I believe you?" the queen demanded, furious now. "You're so enchanted by him that you wouldn't tell me even if he was a threat, would you?"
  
  "I don't have to!" Clearsight cried. "He's really n —" She broke off suddenly.
  
  Enchanted by him.
  
  Am I?
  
  Her talons went slowly to her earrings. But I checked the scroll.
  
  And yet … I didn't notice an invulnerability spell in there, either.
  
  If he can keep one spell a secret from me, he could have done another.
  
  But how? It would have to be in the scroll. Wouldn't it?
  
  The chills had become a cold gusting wind of terror. Had he been lying to her all along? Did he really keep some of his animus power in his own claws? But surely she would have seen it in some future, if that were true.
  
  She fumbled to unclip the earrings, dropping them with small plinks on the ground.
  
  And visions rushed in, visions upon visions upon visions, all the darkness she'd ever seen but worse and worse and worse and worse: Darkstalker murdering the queen and stealing the throne; NightWings fleeing by the thousands; the city burning, the ground shaking; Darkstalker in his crown laughing and killing with ease.
  
  These weren't visions of the distant future, either. These were about to happen now. The tipping point was trembling on a knife's edge. If Clearsight could do anything to stop it, she didn't have a moment to lose.
  
  "It was you," she said to the queen, bewildered. "You sent the assassin after Darkstalker."
  
  "After I heard her prophecy," the queen said, tipping her head at Allknowing, "how could I not?"
  
  "You fool," Clearsight cried. "You're the one making it happen! He wouldn't have — he might not — but now, but now …" She took a step backward. He was coming, it was all coming, all the bad things rushing their way. "I have to go."
  
  "No," said the queen sharply. "I won't let you conspire with him anymore. Guards! Lock her up!" she shouted.
  
  Burly NightWing guards pounced from behind the rosebushes, as if they'd been lying in wait for this moment, but Clearsight saw them coming. All at once the future was spread clearly over the present, as it hadn't been since she put the earrings on, and she saw where the guards would be to grab her and she saw how to twist away and her escape path into the sky, and she took it, winging free in one wild heartbeat.
  
  "I'm the only one who can stop him," she shouted to the queen's furious upturned face. "And I will. I promise I will!"
  
  She evaded the talons that reached for her and the wings that blocked her way, diving and dodging until she was over the palace wall and soaring down toward the Great Diamond.
  
  A moment later, new wingbeats came up alongside her and she nearly lashed out, before she realized with a surge of relief that it was Fathom, glowing emerald green in the sunlight.
  
  "What happened?" he called. "I heard shouting — I saw you and the queen out my window — are you all right?"
  
  "We have to stop Darkstalker," she cried. "He's on his way here to kill the queen."
  
  "What?" Fathom's wings faltered. "Now? Why — oh." His features shifted as he figured it out. "She's the one who sent the assassin."
  
  "Darkstalker really doesn't like it when dragons try to kill him," Clearsight said.
  
  "Maybe we can reason with him. He forgave Indigo, remember?" Fathom pointed out as they swooped past the library.
  
  Clearsight's heart stopped again. Did he?
  
  What if she didn't really leave? What if he did something to her with one of his secret spells?
  
  WHERE IS SHE?
  
  "I see him!" Fathom cried, adjusting his flight path.
  
  Darkstalker was beating his way toward the palace, menace radiating from every scale. Not many NightWings were out now, in the middle of the day, but those that were swerved wildly to get out of his way, then gathered to whisper together as he passed.
  
  I knew the whole tribe would know who we were one day, Clearsight thought, but I wanted us to be their saviors — not for everyone to be scared of him.
  
  "Darkstalker!" she yelled.
  
  He paused and hovered in place, looking around as she and Fathom swooped up to him. She saw his gaze move to her ears, and she saw him realize that she'd taken off the earrings. He knew that she knew what he'd done. His face set into lines of defiance.
  
  She pointed to the roof of the library, and the three of them soared down to land on an open flat spot between the graceful spires.
  
  "I'm not going to let you kill the queen," she said as their talons touched down.
  
  "She started it," Darkstalker said, his mouth quirking unbelievably into a little smile.
  
  "She's an idiot," Clearsight said, "but we can stop her from trying again. We can go back to the way things were."
  
  "Yes, please, Darkstalker," Fathom said, pressing his front talons together.
  
  "Can you really see that?" Darkstalker asked Clearsight. "She'll never trust either of us. You'll always be in danger, and therefore so will I, because I care about you, and Vigilance will use that against me." He paused, looking her over. "Unless I enchant your scales, too." His talons reached for a bag slung around his neck and Clearsight realized with a jolt that he must have his scroll with him. So he can use his magic on the queen.
  
  "No," she said, so sharply that Darkstalker and Fathom both winced. "I don't want any more spells on me, Darkstalker. I can't believe you betrayed me like that."
  
  "Like what?" he said innocently.
  
  "The earrings!" she cried. "You put a secret spell on me! You messed with my power, Darkstalker. Don't you see how wrong that is?"
  
  Fathom took a step back, his face crumpling into shock and sorrow.
  
  "Oh," Darkstalker said, flipping his tail dismissively. "That was such a little spell. I just wanted to keep you focused on the happy futures, like we talked about. I knew you couldn't do it on your own, no matter how much you promised me you would. So the earrings faded back all the dark paths, that's all. I was only trying to make you happier, Clearsight." He tipped his head, looking for a moment as though he really meant it, as if he cared about her more than anything and had been trying to help.
  
  He might actually believe that — but the truth is, he was just making his life easier. He didn't want me standing in his way as he went down those dark paths.
  
  "That's why I didn't see Quickdeath coming," Clearsight said. "Between the earrings and Allknowing trying to trick me — that's how I was taken by surprise. What if all my predictions about the war have been wrong, too, Darkstalker? While I'm handing out all these rose-colored prophecies, dragons could die in the real future."
  
  "I was double-checking your work," he said, smiling. "Don't worry."
  
  "You arrogant porcupine!" she shouted.
  
  "This has been delightful," he said. His wings flared open. "But I have a queen to kill."
  
  "Stop!" Clearsight leaped at him, tumbling him backward on the roof until she had him pinned down. "I'm not going to let you do that!"
  
  Darkstalker looked up at her, and she saw with a shiver of fear that he was genuinely puzzled.
  
  "Why not?" he asked. "I'll be a great king. Can't you see that? We'll be the strongest tribe in Pyrrhia. Our kingdom could stretch from shore to shore. You and me, side by side, bringing harmony to the whole continent, with our dragonets inheriting the throne after we're gone."
  
  "After we're gone?" she said bitterly. "You won't ever let that happen. It's a short step from invulnerability to an immortality spell. Have you done it already?"
  
  His silence answered that question. Darkstalker was immortal now — which was one of the most important things Clearsight was supposed to prevent to protect the future.
  
  Was there any hope left?
  
  A vision trembled through her mind, rumbling up from below and gathering strength like a volcano.
  
  There was only one way to stop Darkstalker from killing the queen right now — and it might not save Vigilance in the future, and it definitely led to more bloodshed, but it would give them at least a moment to think, if she took this path.
  
  If she told him what was happening at this moment, while his back was turned.
  
  Then she saw that she didn't have to; the vision was sweeping over him as well. He sat up abruptly, knocking her away.
  
  "Whiteout," he said in a strangled voice.
  
  "Your father has her," Clearsight said, touching her forehead. "He's taken her and they're flying …"
  
  "North," Darkstalker finished. Murder glinted in his eyes. "He's taking her to the Ice Kingdom."
  
  They were flying before Fathom quite realized what was happening. He only knew his friends were going north as fast as their wings could take them and he was going, too.
  
  At one point he felt something like a shock sizzle through the air, just as they flew out of the mountains. It startled him into glancing down, and he nearly tumbled out of the sky, his stomach heaving. The land below was littered with IceWing corpses, charred and ripped apart into tangles of white-blue limbs.
  
  "What happened here?" he yelled to Clearsight.
  
  She glanced at Darkstalker, flying furiously ahead of them. "He put up a border shield," she called back. "It kills any IceWings who try to enter the kingdom."
  
  Fathom should have guessed. His magic did this.
  
  He closed his eyes tight, beat his wings faster, and flew on.
  
  Soon he saw sand below him, a vast expanse of desert that rippled like a pale ocean. Down there was the Kingdom of Sand, ruled by Queen Scorpion. All he knew about her was that she allowed the NightWings and IceWings to battle across her territory in exchange for large piles of treasure from each of them; rumor had it she played both sides and didn't care who won. The desert kingdom was big and empty enough for the battles to play out without much collateral SandWing damage, as long as the warring dragons stayed away from her oasis towns.
  
  The sun had passed the high point of the sky and was sliding down into late afternoon, but it was blisteringly hot on Fathom's scales. He wished he could dive into an ocean to cool them off. He wondered if they had made a grave mistake, flying into the Kingdom of Sand without water. But he followed his friends; he would follow them anywhere.
  
  He couldn't believe their fight. He could barely understand it. From the outside, he'd thought their relationship was perfect. The way they'd suddenly exploded — the idea that Darkstalker had cast a spell on Clearsight — the fact that he'd been on his way to kill his own queen! Fathom wondered if he really knew his friend at all.
  
  So why are you following him into a strange kingdom? whispered the worries at the back of his mind. Without either of your guards?
  
  "Darkstalker," Clearsight called. She swept one wing around at the endless desert. "They could be anywhere."
  
  He checked himself in the air, frowning at her, and then soared quickly down to the ground. When Fathom landed beside him, Darkstalker was unrolling a scroll on the shifting sands.
  
  That's the scroll, Fathom thought with a start. Where he keeps all his power.
  
  Darkstalker reached into his bag again and pulled out a dagger. Its jagged edge caught the sun, flashing into Fathom's eyes and blinding him for a moment.
  
  "What are you going to do with that?" Clearsight asked, resting her wing against one of Darkstalker's.
  
  He shook her off. "Not what you think." He placed the dagger on the scroll, weighing down the flapping paper, uncapped an inkwell, and scrawled Enchant this dagger to lead us to Arctic and Whiteout, then stab Arctic once in the foot, injuring him enough that he has to stop, but not so badly that he bleeds to death. Above all else, stop him from crossing the Great Ice Cliff.
  
  Darkstalker wrote with unhesitating confidence, ignoring the shiny green beetle that popped out of the sand, scurried over his claws, and buried itself again. The wind lifted his wings and the sun burnished his scales to gleaming ebony. He looked heroic and sure. He didn't even have to pause and think. He knew exactly what he wanted to write, his carefully crafted spell.
  
  He has no doubts, Fathom thought. He wished he could have just a moment of feeling that way, of that kind of belief in himself.
  
  But it was better that he didn't. The world might not survive it if he let himself stop being afraid, even for a moment.
  
  Darkstalker shot him an irritated glare. He'd finished the spell, but the dagger wasn't moving. "Why isn't it working?" he growled.
  
  "Maybe he's protecting himself with his own magic," Clearsight suggested. "Maybe instead of attacking him, we should —"
  
  Darkstalker flicked his tail, cutting her off. "Yes! His shielding earring!" He stabbed his talons into the sand and dragged out the green beetle, who squirmed frantically in his claws. It had tiny black pincers that snapped at the air.
  
  Enchant this beetle to find Prince Arctic as fast as possible and take off his shielding earring, Darkstalker wrote.
  
  The beetle flickered into the air like a puff of smoke and a few moments later, the dagger rose up and spun like a compass needle. Suddenly it shot away, heading northwest.
  
  "Let's go!" Darkstalker cried. He threw the scroll back in his bag and hurled himself into the sky. He flew as if his wings were possessed and Fathom had to strain every muscle to keep up. Next to him in the air, Clearsight flew with the same determination. Her eyes had a distant measuring look, as though she was climbing down into a dark abyss, trying to see the bottom.
  
  The dagger flashed and danced ahead of them as they flew and flew. Finally, as the sky was just starting to fade to darker blue, the dagger put on a burst of speed, and a moment later there was an agonized shriek from somewhere up ahead.
  
  Fathom caught up to Darkstalker in time to see a silvery white shape fall out of the sky and crash-land on a dune below them. Another figure, black-and-white, drifted down after him.
  
  "We found them!" Darkstalker cried exultantly.
  
  They landed in a semicircle around Arctic, with Clearsight and Fathom on either side of Darkstalker. Whiteout crouched beside her father, examining one of his back feet, where the dagger was buried to the hilt and blue blood poured out over the sticky dark sand. Another thin trickle of blood slid down his neck from one ear, where an earring had once been.
  
  Arctic glared up at Darkstalker, his face twisted with pain and fury. "Just let us go," the IceWing hissed. "I let you live. Do me the same courtesy. We never have to see each other again."
  
  Darkstalker calmly slid his scroll out of his bag. "Where do you think you're taking my sister?" he asked.
  
  "She wants to go with me," Arctic snarled. "Tell him, Whiteout."
  
  "I want to go with Father," she said. Even Fathom could see that there was something wrong with her voice, with her eyes. Clearsight reached for her and Whiteout jerked away, keeping her talons on her father.
  
  "She's going to marry an IceWing prince," Arctic said, his breath coming in short gasps. "Not some lowborn NightWing."
  
  "That's right," Whiteout said. "I'll be an IceWing princess. And have lots of baby IceWings. And live there forever. Where it is very, very cold."
  
  "You are not taking her to the Ice Kingdom," Darkstalker said. "She would be miserable there, even worse than you were." He unrolled the scroll to a blank section and carefully set a rock at each corner to hold it down.
  
  "I'm doing this for your mother," Arctic spat. He tried to sit up, setting off another gush of blood from the dagger wound, and fell back again. Whiteout blinked anxiously and pressed her talons to his foot. "Queen Diamond will let Foeslayer go if she has me instead."
  
  "Mother is dead," said Darkstalker. Fathom shivered at the eerie blankness with which he said those words.
  
  Darkstalker uncapped the inkwell and placed it gently on the edge of the scroll. "You are doing this for yourself, Father. You have no reason to stay in the Night Kingdom anymore, now that Mother is gone. So you're taking your chance to go home, like you've always wanted." He dipped one claw in the ink. "You're planning to tell Diamond all the secrets you know about NightWings to help her defeat us. You may even use your power again, to launch an attack on us."
  
  Fathom glanced over at Clearsight and saw from her unhappy face that it was true.
  
  "I might, but only to protect Whiteout," Arctic said. "If that's the only deal Diamond will accept to keep her alive." He reached down and yanked out the dagger, hissing furiously as blood spurted out. "You'll be fine with your invincible scales, don't worry. Now say good-bye to your sister and let us go before Diamond's army finds you."
  
  "I want to go to the Ice Kingdom," Whiteout said. "I want to be with Father. You go home," she said, pointing at Darkstalker. "I don't even like you."
  
  Darkstalker paused, meeting her cool blue eyes, then turned back to Arctic. "But you made one odd mistake," he said. His claw was poised above the scroll, ink gleaming on the tip. "You should have killed me before you left, like Diamond wanted you to." He tilted his head at his father. "I'm not sure why you didn't."
  
  "I wasn't going to kill my own son," Arctic snarled. "Whatever you think of my soul, it's not so far gone that I would actually do that." He started to laugh, a cracking, bitter sound like icicles snapping off a roof. "I know I should, though. One more spell, and I'll probably be there, won't I? I mean, what are you going to do to stop me?" He spread his wings, staggering upright. "Our magic is equal, you and I. Our souls are equally doomed. What are you writing, you little monster?"
  
  "Darkstalker, please, please don't," Clearsight pleaded. Fathom took a step toward him, but he didn't know what to do. He could rip the scroll out of his talons — but then what would happen? Would Arctic attack? Of these two dragons, if one was about to use magic, wouldn't it be better if it was Darkstalker?
  
  It was too late anyway. Darkstalker's claw was sliding smoothly across the paper, words falling into place, spelling out the beginning of the end of the world.
  
  "Now," Darkstalker said to his father. "Stop talking."
  
  Arctic opened his mouth.
  
  And nothing came out.
  
  "Never use your magic again," Darkstalker said pleasantly. "Never attack me or my friends ever again. Don't try to escape."
  
  Arctic clutched his throat. His tail was lashing like a snake on fire.
  
  "What did you do?" Fathom whispered. On the other side of Darkstalker, Clearsight had her face buried in her talons. He couldn't tell whether she was crying or planning or spinning herself into the futures to get as far away from now as possible.
  
  "Release Whiteout from the spell you put on her," Darkstalker went on, ignoring Fathom.
  
  Arctic's claws reached toward his daughter, although he was clearly trying to fight them. He seized the golden glass shell necklace around her neck, pulled it off, and smashed it.
  
  Whiteout let out a gasp. She shook her head, blinking like mad, then looked around, taking in the scene as if she'd just woken up.
  
  "Oh no," she cried. "It's too late. The sand is falling."
  
  "You're all right, Whiteout," Darkstalker said, reaching to take her front talons in his. "I saved you." She touched his snout gently with hers for a moment, then stepped back.
  
  "I'm grateful to be unfrozen," she said. "But I'm sorry for winning."
  
  "Don't be," he said. "We both win. We're going to have the greatest future I can give us. All of us." He swung his head to include Fathom and Clearsight, then rolled his eyes at the expressions on their faces. "Calm down. I saved the day. It was amazing, didn't you notice?"
  
  "Let me see," Clearsight said, holding out her talons.
  
  Darkstalker shrugged and slid his scroll toward her. Fathom stepped around him and read the spell over her shoulder.
  
  He'd known what it would say. It was clear from what he'd seen in front of him.
  
  But still, seeing the words in black and white …
  
  Enchant Arctic the IceWing to obey my every command.
  
  "No," Clearsight breathed.
  
  Fathom was dizzy, falling, the world and everything he knew rushing past him.
  
  If it was possible to enchant living dragons this way — to treat them like objects, to use them however you wanted …
  
  He looked at Clearsight. It could start as simply as a pair of enchanted earrings. A small shifting of the world, rearranging other dragons to make your life a bit easier, telling yourself it was harmless, for the best, even.
  
  But once you took a step down that path, once you let yourself think manipulating someone else was all right … when every new turn seemed right to you, seemed justified, no matter how far you went …
  
  Where would it ever stop?
  
  All things considered, Darkstalker thought he was doing a remarkably admirable job of keeping his temper.
  
  His queen had tried to kill him, after everything he'd done for her.
  
  His father had bewitched his sister and tried to betray the entire tribe.
  
  Clearsight was acting as if his gift of the earrings was some enormous life-altering horrible treachery, instead of a perfectly sweet, kindhearted gesture he'd made to make her feel better.
  
  And now Fathom was flooding Darkstalker's mind with panicked screaming mobs of DOOM DOOM THE SKY IS FALLING MY FRIEND IS EVIL THE WORLD IS ENDING blah blah overreacting melodramatic nonsense.
  
  Darkstalker was doing exactly what he needed to do. He had to stop his father. He had to save his sister. He had to protect his friends. He was clearly the good guy here.
  
  If Clearsight and Fathom couldn't see that, what kinds of friends were they? Trusting him and supporting him … as his best friends, wasn't that their ONE JOB?
  
  He clenched his claws, stamping his rage down to a simmer below the surface. His work was not done. He needed to make himself and his friends safe permanently, forever. He needed everyone to know that you never came after Darkstalker.
  
  "Follow us back to the Night Kingdom," he ordered Arctic. "Keep up. Don't try anything. Don't even think about anything except flying, one wingbeat after another, until I tell you you can land."
  
  His father was beautifully, magically silent. He could do nothing except stare at Darkstalker with seething hatred. Arctic was finally, finally no longer a threat to anyone.
  
  And now he's going to pay for what happened to Mother, for what he did to Whiteout, and for what he nearly did to the tribe.
  
  "Maybe we should rest first," Clearsight said hurriedly. "Whiteout looks tired, right, Fathom? We could all sleep for a while, maybe find something to eat. Maybe talk about … everything."
  
  "I have things to do," Darkstalker said, packing up his scroll and putting it back in his bag. He knew her so well. He knew that she was trying to delay the inevitable. She was hoping to wrestle them onto a new timeline. She thought that if she had a little more time now, tonight, she'd be able to change the future.
  
  But she couldn't. He was weaving the path now; no more tweaks and tugs from her. Even if he had to drag her along it kicking and screaming. Once they got there, to his beautiful future, she'd admit it was the best one and he'd been right all along. He spread his wings. "We're going now."
  
  "Darkstalker," Clearsight said. "Please don't do what you're about to do. Please stop and look at the timelines with me — we can still find one that's safe and peaceful for all of us."
  
  "I know we can," he said. "We're on it. Accept your destiny, my love. We're the ones who bring the peace, once the throne is ours. And who's safer than the king and queen?"
  
  He took off, relishing the sound of all their wingbeats hurrying after him. These were his dragons, Clearsight and Fathom and Whiteout. They might fuss and worry at him, but they'd follow him to the edge of the sky. They'd be right beside him as he took his throne, and they'd love him no matter what.
  
  He didn't stop once, the whole way back to the Night Kingdom. The sun buried itself below the horizon and darkness spread cold wings over the desert. A few times as he flew, he saw the flicker of campfires or the shadows of moving dragons, preparing for yet another battle.
  
  That will be my army soon, he thought. We'll crush the IceWings easily once I'm king. I'll punish Diamond for what she did to my mother.
  
  Rage surged through him again. He'd delayed his vengeance for months, listening to Clearsight's worries, following Queen Vigilance's strategy instead of using his own. He'd made her a stronger queen; he'd given the tribe a shield and strengthened her army, and then what did she do? Send an assassin after him!
  
  She'd brought this upon herself.
  
  The mountainous border of the Night Kingdom loomed up ahead. Darkstalker had enchanted his shield to allow himself, Whiteout, and Arctic to pass through safely. He wondered what would have happened if he'd left Arctic out of that equation. Would he have died on his way out of the kingdom?
  
  It didn't matter. This path was going to be much more satisfying.
  
  Fathom's anxiety intensified to a shrieking fever pitch as they swooped closer to the palace. Oh no, we shouldn't enchant other dragons! Dragons aren't objects! You can't use them like puppets! Is my friend completely evil? There's nothing we can do!
  
  He really needed to calm down. Darkstalker would put that priority high up on his list, once he was king. Something that would shift Fathom's brain into a much quieter state; something that would take all that freaking out and stuff it away where Darkstalker didn't have to listen to it all the time. He knew he could make Fathom a happier dragon. Honestly, he'd thought he could do that by getting rid of Indigo, but apparently that wasn't enough. The self-loathing was too entrenched.
  
  No matter. It could be done, and it would be, soon.
  
  He looked over his shoulder for Clearsight, hoping to catch her eye and maybe find her smiling. Maybe a night of flying had given her enough time to think about why he'd done everything he was doing. Maybe she was a little closer to understanding him.
  
  But she flew with her head down, looking just as doubtful as ever.
  
  He flexed his talons irritably. Had anyone even noticed what he saved Whiteout from? What Arctic did to her was basically exactly what Darkstalker had done to him. It wasn't quite as impressive — Arctic had enchanted the necklace, because like every other narrow-minded animus dragon, it had never occurred to him that he could enchant a living being. But he'd forced Whiteout to go with him; he'd erased her love for Darkstalker and her interest in Thoughtful; and worst of all, he'd used his magic to try to make her normal. Arctic had never loved Whiteout's strange way of speaking. It made sense that when he tried to control her, he would start by taking that away.
  
  Darkstalker snarled angrily.
  
  This was what Arctic deserved.
  
  His friends would understand that eventually. They'd see that Darkstalker was right.
  
  The Great Diamond was below them, bustling with dragons shopping, dragons on their way to work, dragons going to the library or the museum or school. Dragons who didn't have any idea what or who was important, or how the world was about to change.
  
  He twisted in the air to meet his father's eyes. "You will land beside me and stand there quietly until I tell you what to do next."
  
  Arctic's eyes were blank, trapped. There was nothing he could do but obey.
  
  Darkstalker landed on the stage set up in the center of the plaza, where there were supposed to be concerts for the next few weeks, celebrating a series of upcoming hatching days in the royal family.
  
  The moons shone palely overhead, two of them almost full, one a needle-sharp sliver on a carpet of stars.
  
  Talons hit the stage behind him, thump thump thump. Fathom, Whiteout, Clearsight, with their beloved, frustrating, worried faces. And right beside him, Arctic, exactly as Darkstalker had always wanted him.
  
  Down below him, dragons turned to look up, their faces curious and wondering.
  
  "My friends," Darkstalker called in a booming voice. My subjects, he thought. "You're about to see something no dragons have ever seen before. Gather your families; everyone come watch! This is the most important day of your lives!"
  
  He sat down and waited as the square filled with dragons, murmurs passing from one to another, everyone wondering what he was going to do. Everyone's eyes on him. Everyone finally about to see him for the dragon he really was: his power, his heroism, his intelligence and strength.
  
  After tonight, no one would ever insult him or underestimate him again.
  
  And no one would dare attack him, or hurt the dragons he loved.
  
  "Darkstalker," Clearsight said from beside him, her wings brushing softly against his.
  
  "One last try, my love?" he said, smiling at her. He put one wing around her and she leaned into his side, twining her tail around his. She was warm and beautiful in the moonlight. She was the future he wanted, right there on the throne next to his.
  
  "Where's Fathom?" he asked, noticing that the SeaWing's worried thoughts weren't weighing down his mind anymore. The rush of thoughts from the crowd below was swarming in, taking up all the space instead.
  
  "I told him to go back to the palace," Clearsight said. "He's seen enough violence in his life from dragons he trusted. He doesn't need to see any more."
  
  Darkstalker rolled his eyes. Clearsight was brilliant and empathetic, but sometimes she laid it on a little thick.
  
  "I think he'll survive," he said. "Hang on, wait, actually; I know he does. You can see it, too. I'm going to find him a nice NightWing to marry in a few years."
  
  "I don't like her," Clearsight said. "Her laugh makes me itch."
  
  "Well, there aren't a lot of choices willing to both marry a SeaWing and never have dragonets," Darkstalker pointed out. "If we change his mind about that last part, we have a few more options."
  
  She shook her head, probably dwelling on some boring objections to what Darkstalker might mean by "change his mind."
  
  "How can we be looking at the same futures," she asked, "and see them so differently?"
  
  "I think I know," he said. "You're focused on the ones where I'm a terrible king who kills dragons for fun. I know those are there, but I'm not worried about them. That's not me. I'm looking at the ones where we spread peace across the continents, unite the tribes under our rule, and raise the sweetest, funniest dragonets. You should focus on those, too."
  
  "Eclipse," she said sadly. "Shadowhunter."
  
  "And Fierceclaws," he said, hoping she would laugh. "Still pretty sure I'm going to win that fight. It's a great name, you'll see."
  
  She didn't respond. He reached down and lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
  
  "Trust me," he said. "We have a wonderful future ahead of us. Just stay in the moment with me and you'll see."
  
  "What kind of wonderful future starts with bloodshed and queen-killing?" she asked. "Can't we please —"
  
  "Enough," he said, putting two claws over her mouth. "Stop doubting me. Watch and see: it'll all be fine."
  
  He turned back to the gathering crowd, which was now hundreds of dragons deep. He felt Clearsight step away from him and wrap her wings around herself, shaking. He'd fix that later. He knew they'd be happy together again, one day not too long from now, even if it required a little magic.
  
  "Thank you for coming!" he called to the crowd. "What a beautiful night! A perfect night to punish a traitor!" He swept one wing toward Arctic and a shocked whisper hissed through the audience. "First, let's consider the evidence. Arctic, tell our listeners. Tell them what you were about to do, before I stopped you."
  
  "I was going home," Arctic roared, his voice set free again. "I'm not a traitor!"
  
  Darkstalker took a step closer to his father. He could hear the hubbub of curiosity boiling below. Why wasn't the IceWing chained up? Why didn't he fly away? Why was he just standing there, confessing?
  
  "Tell the truth," Darkstalker said. "Tell them exactly what you were planning."
  
  Arctic lashed his tail. "I was taking my daughter to Queen Diamond," he growled. "I was going to offer her talons in marriage to whomever Diamond chose, so she could hatch some heirs for the throne who might have animus blood. I was going to live in an ice palace again, sleeping at night like a normal dragon. I was going to find out if Foeslayer is still alive. I was going to offer the IceWings a detailed map of the Night Kingdom and a way to get inside to destroy you all, in exchange for her life."
  
  The NightWings stared at him, shocked into utter silence. From the stillness behind him on the stage, Darkstalker guessed that even Whiteout and Clearsight were stunned by the extent of Arctic's villainy.
  
  Darkstalker shook his head regretfully. "You see," he said to the crowd. "He admits it all. He would have wiped out our entire tribe without a shred of remorse. He is the worst dragon who has ever lived, and he deserves to die. Don't you agree?"
  
  He raised his chin, listening to the hurricane of reactions in the minds below. Of course there were some wishy-washy responses, some dragons who thought this might be a trick, others who wondered where the queen was, and wasn't punishing traitors up to her? (She was in the palace, he was sure, watching from one of the balconies.) But most of them agreed with him. This IceWing who looked like the enemies they'd been fighting for years — he'd been planning to kill them, just like his brethren had killed NightWing brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. They'd given him shelter, fought a war to protect him, and he had betrayed them!
  
  He DID have to die!
  
  "Kneel," Darkstalker said to his father.
  
  Arctic knelt, and the crowd whispered again. How did Darkstalker make him do that? Without any guards or weapons standing by?
  
  "Admit that I am the greatest animus of all time," Darkstalker hissed.
  
  "You are the greatest animus of all time," Arctic choked out.
  
  Darkstalker spread his wings toward the audience. "Tell them there is no more powerful dragon than me."
  
  "There is no more powerful dragon than you."
  
  "Now say you wish you had been a better father."
  
  Arctic let out an incredulous, startled laugh. "I do wish I'd been a better father," he said. "If I were, I would have strangled you the moment you hatched."
  
  "Cut out your tongue," Darkstalker said coldly.
  
  Arctic's eyes became round holes of horror as he reached up to his mouth, pulled out his long blue forked tongue, and sliced it off with his own claws.
  
  Darkstalker could feel the waves of terror rolling off the watching NightWings, making him stronger and stronger. Yes. Fear me. Respect me. See me.
  
  "Now." Darkstalker leaned toward Arctic, his claws gouging into the wood of the stage. "Take your talons, rip open your stomach, and show us all what you're really like on the inside. Pour out your life on this stage."
  
  It took a long time, and it was messy, and at the end of it, when Arctic was definitely dead, Darkstalker did not feel nearly as happy as he'd expected.
  
  But he'd done what he needed to do, and the crowd reaction was exactly what he was hoping for. Now he would go kill the queen — quickly this time, get it over with, no need for more theatrics. And then he'd be king, the first king in the history of Pyrrhia, and there would be peace and prosperity and happiness, because now he and everyone he loved was safe forever.
  
  He turned around wearily. He needed the warmth of Clearsight's wings right now.
  
  Whiteout was standing alone on the stage behind him. Her eyes were closed, and tears were running down her face, leaving little puddles on the stage. Her white wings lay askew at her sides like broken leaves. He felt a stab of guilt — but he shouldn't; he had saved her from a terrible fate.
  
  "Where is Clearsight?" he asked. "When did she leave?"
  
  Was she trying to make a point, missing his moment of triumph?
  
  Or … a vision flashed in his head, a warning, and he scrabbled for the bag slung across his chest. It couldn't be true. She wouldn't —
  
  His scroll was missing.
  
  She must have taken it when she was hugging him, whispering to him about their dragonets.
  
  How DARE SHE.
  
  "Clearsight has your scroll," Whiteout whispered without opening her eyes. Behind her, Darkstalker saw Thoughtful pushing through the crowd, coming toward her with worried eyes. Good, yes; Thoughtful could take care of Whiteout while Darkstalker dealt with Clearsight. "She said to tell you she'll meet you at Agate Mountain."
  
  Darkstalker growled under his breath. He couldn't kill the queen without his scroll — well, perhaps he could. Vigilance certainly couldn't kill him. But he wanted to do it quickly, with magic. And he didn't trust what Clearsight might do, now that she had his power in her talons.
  
  I can't trust her.
  
  The realization was swift and startling. Of all the dragons in the world, he thought he'd been sure of her, at least.
  
  He threw himself into the air, fuming.
  
  Maybe the future was going to be a little different than he'd planned after all.
  
  Maybe there would be no queen on the throne beside him.
  
  Clearsight's heart thudded with terror as she crept off the stage into the crowd, leaving Darkstalker's grand scene in the middle of Arctic's confession. The black leather case crumpled around the scroll as she clutched it under her wings.
  
  She couldn't save Arctic. The next few minutes were inevitable, and terrible, and far too horribly clear in her mind already. Blue IceWing blood everywhere. No, he was lost … and now she had to save Fathom, and Indigo, and maybe the queen, and the whole rest of Pyrrhia, if she could.
  
  It was a slim chance, and it only might work because she could thread the possibilities and read the ripples better than Darkstalker could. He was distracted by his vengeance and his horror show, and she'd spent the entire flight home untangling the one frail thread of hope until she knew what she had to do.
  
  As she ducked through the crowd, avoiding all the looks and whispers, she ran directly into a set of familiar talons.
  
  "Clearsight!" Listener whispered, grabbing her shoulders. "What. Is. HAPPENING."
  
  Clearsight shook her head. "I can't … I can't explain."
  
  "I can!" Listener said. "Your boyfriend is a psycho, just like I always thought!" She finally noticed the tracks of tears on Clearsight's snout and leaned in to wipe them away. "Oh, moonbeam, you'll be all right."
  
  "No," Clearsight said. She seized one of her friend's talons in hers. "Listener, this is important. Remember when you told me that you did want to know the future if it meant saving your family's lives? If something really, really bad was about to happen?"
  
  Listener fell back, a look of dawning fear on her face. "What's going to happen, Clearsight?"
  
  "I don't know, exactly," Clearsight said. But if her plan failed, and Darkstalker returned, even stronger and more furious than before, without her to hold him back anymore … it was all destruction and death and nothing but darkness from there. "But it's really bad. Please, Listener, if you've ever believed anything I've said, do this for me. Find my parents, gather your family, and leave the Night Kingdom. Fly as far and as fast as you can. Take them somewhere safe where … where no one will ever find them."
  
  She was suddenly aware that other dragons were listening, that she had the attention of several frightened faces.
  
  "And the queen?" Listener asked.
  
  "If you can get to her," Clearsight said, "tell her to escape, too. I'll give you all as much time as I can, but I don't know if my plan will work." Will he come after me? Will he kill the queen first? Will I survive what I'm about to do?
  
  "Clearsight —" Listener started, reaching for her.
  
  Clearsight threw her wings around her friend, hugging her fiercely. "Thank you for being you," she whispered in her ear. "I hope your life is everything it should be."
  
  Then she pulled herself away and shoved through the crowd, ducking under long necks and wings until she was far enough from the stage to take flight for the palace.
  
  Fathom was waiting in his room, where she'd told him to go, pacing back and forth and twisting his talons together.
  
  "Did he suspect anything?" he asked as she swooped in over the balcony.
  
  "Not yet," she said. "We have to keep you away from him until it's done, or he'll hear something in your thoughts." She pulled out the scroll. "Here."
  
  "I don't want to touch that," he said, backing away.
  
  "We have to. We have to use it to make something that will stop him," she said. She brushed a tear out of her eye. There was no time for crying, none.
  
  "Not with his scroll," Fathom said, shaking his head. "It could be enchanted to signal him whenever someone else uses it. Or it might kill anyone else who tries to write in it. Or he might know, somehow, every spell that's written in it. We can't use that."
  
  "I don't think he was that devious when he first made this," Clearsight said with a stab of sorrow for that dragon Darkstalker had been, that day when everything had looked so bright up ahead. "But you're right, he might have added it later. We have to risk it, though."
  
  Fathom put one talon over hers, stopping her. "I'll do it. I'll use my own power."
  
  "Your oath," Clearsight said. "You can't —"
  
  "I have to," he said. "It's the only way. This is just like my grandfather … I'm the only one who can."
  
  The timeline thread trembled in Clearsight's mind and she steadied herself on it, focusing as hard as she could. "Quickly, then. Remember, he's invulnerable and immortal now."
  
  "I know," he said. "I think I know what to do, but I need something to enchant. You can't take anything with you." Fathom's voice dropped to a whisper. "Or else he'll know … he'll guess … if he suspects …"
  
  "I know," Clearsight whispered back. Her breath caught on a sob. "He might kill me." That future was horribly clear, real behind her eyes even as her mind refused to believe it. She wrestled the bracelet off her arm. Moonstones and copper wire, his gift to protect her — the one she'd known would be important one day. "Use this. But make sure it keeps the enchantment it already has, too."
  
  Fathom turned the bracelet over in his claws, tears brimming in his eyes. "Are we really doing this?" he asked. "Shouldn't we use the soul reader on him first, to make sure he's as far gone as we think?"
  
  "We don't have time, and he's left us no choice," she said. "It only gets worse from here, Fathom. There are some futures that aren't completely terrible, but there are many more that are too frightening to risk. This could be the last moment we have where we're both free and thinking for ourselves. It's our only chance to stop him."
  
  "All right." He held the bracelet between his talons and closed his eyes, concentrating fiercely. Finally he handed it back to her. It looked and felt exactly the same.
  
  "It's done," he whispered.
  
  "You're sure this will work?" she said.
  
  "You'd know better than I would," he said.
  
  That was true. She could see that the spell was strong; it would work — if she could get the bracelet on Darkstalker's arm. If he didn't figure out what she was doing. If she was fast enough … if, if, if …
  
  "Thank you," she said. "If this works, you've saved the world, you know."
  
  He shifted his wings, looking down at his talons as if they might accidentally set something on fire. "It'll be more you than me," he said. "Be careful."
  
  She hugged him and thrust the scroll into his claws. "One more thing," she said. "I — I'm afraid he did something to Indigo." He looked up, his eyes wide. "Search through here and find it. I don't know how he hid it from me, but it must be in there somewhere. Maybe you can bring her back, or … well, whatever it is, you should know the truth."
  
  He nodded, barely breathing.
  
  "Then hide that scroll and get as far away from the Night Kingdom as you can. Whatever you do, don't destroy the scroll, or else he'll get all his power back." Clearsight rubbed her eyes, stepping toward the window. She knew she would never see him again. "Good-bye, Fathom."
  
  "Good-bye, Clearsight. Good luck."
  
  She was out in the sky a moment later, flying on aching wings toward Agate Mountain, far to the east. She didn't look back, but she knew Fathom was standing in the window, watching her go.
  
  The timelines were all narrowing to one moment now.
  
  She flew toward her last chance to save the future.
  
  He did something to Indigo.
  
  Fathom turned away from the window and the dark sky that had swallowed Clearsight. He was still shaken from what he'd done — betraying his friend. Breaking his oath. Using his magic.
  
  But all he could really think was Indigo.
  
  What had Darkstalker done?
  
  Is she … could he have …
  
  No. No. She had to be alive. With all his power, Darkstalker could have done anything to get rid of her — he didn't have to kill her. Maybe he'd enchanted a necklace that made her want to leave Fathom. Or an earring that made her forget he even existed. Something that made her stop loving him.
  
  She did love me. His heart was pounding. If Darkstalker got rid of her — that means she didn't leave me.
  
  But she would never have accepted a gift from Darkstalker; she always suspected everything he touched of being cursed in some way.
  
  So what could he have done to her?
  
  He knelt on the floor and spread the scroll out so he could see the entire thing.
  
  There were so many spells! He hadn't realized how much Darkstalker had been doing, quietly, without Fathom noticing. All these small enchantments. A plate that kept prey warm for his mother when she was late for dinner; a blanket that made sure she slept peacefully when she was out in the desert with the army. A set of paints for Whiteout that never went dry and never ran out. And here, near the end, a bell that would ring to let Darkstalker know whenever Fathom was feeling sad or lonely.
  
  Guilt rippled through Fathom. That was how Darkstalker had always known when to show up, always lifted Fathom out of the worst loneliness. Darkstalker did care about him. Look at all these spells that showed his kindness.
  
  Were they making a mistake?
  
  Was Darkstalker's good side strong enough to outweigh his potential for evil?
  
  But then there were the big spells — the shield that killed any IceWing who approached the Night Kingdom. A weapon that shot fire ten times as far as any dragon could normally breathe it.
  
  And the last one: Enchant Arctic the IceWing to obey my every command.
  
  Not to mention whatever he did to Indigo, if Clearsight was right.
  
  Could he have enchanted her the same way he did Arctic?
  
  And all the blank space still left at the end, where Darkstalker could write spell after spell to control the world, to kill anyone he pleased, to have everything his way.
  
  Fathom bent his head and started reading. He read the entire scroll from beginning to end, pausing over each spell to try to imagine if it could be used to make a dragon disappear.
  
  But there was nothing — nothing about Indigo, nothing that hinted at where she might have gone.
  
  He sat back, frustrated. It must be in here. Unless Clearsight was wrong, and Indigo really had left because she wanted to.
  
  The scroll lay quietly in front of him, beckoning as though it were full of dark secrets.
  
  Darkstalker's handwriting was messy and sometimes hard to read, a tight jagged line of sharp points and hard strokes. It seemed to get angrier in the later enchantments, the marks pressing harder into the paper.
  
  But there was something else that changed.
  
  The earliest spells were written fairly close together, one right after another, in an orderly row down the page. Clearsight's bracelet that prevented mind reading; a scroll that would read out loud to them.
  
  But the later spells were spread out, with a lot more space between them.
  
  Why had Darkstalker left so many gaps? Didn't he want to conserve every inch of space carefully?
  
  Fathom's eyes were starting to hurt, and he realized he'd been reading with his night vision. The closest candles had gone out, and only one was still flickering, over by the balcony. He got up and brought it over, hoping the extra light would help give him a clue.
  
  As he set it down and picked up the scroll to move it closer, a shadow seemed to flicker across the page, drawn by the flame.
  
  What …
  
  Cautiously he lifted the scroll so the candlelight shone through it.
  
  And in the blank spaces, words began to appear.
  
  Fathom caught his breath. He's been writing spells in invisible ink.
  
  To keep them hidden from Clearsight, he realized a moment later. Oh, Darkstalker.
  
  Here was his immortality spell. Here was the spell on Clearsight's moonstone earrings — an enchantment that kept the dragon who wore them focused only on the brightest, happiest futures, hiding anything truly bad that might happen up ahead.
  
  He found a spell enchanting the scroll to send Darkstalker a mental twinge whenever someone else used it — so Fathom was right about that, and they were lucky not to have written in here.
  
  And then — oh no.
  
  Enchant this goblet so that the first time Fathom drinks from it, he will stop loving Indigo, forget about his oath, and decide to freely use his animus magic again.
  
  He was horrified. The glass goblet had been enchanted, and just as terribly as Indigo had suspected. He still remembered the sound of it shattering against the wall. Indigo was right after all, right about everything. She'd saved him from it — saved him from Darkstalker's manipulation — and he hadn't even believed her.
  
  Another spell appeared. Enchant this dagger to fly into the Kingdom of Sand and kill one IceWing every full moon, in secret, under cover of darkness — and keep doing so for one year, or until I summon it back. Enchant it to leave messages carved near the body, warning that the Darkstalker is coming for all of them and soon they will all be dead.
  
  Fathom wondered if the queen knew about that dagger, or if that was Darkstalker's own personal secret revenge for the loss of Foeslayer. The IceWings must be terrified, he thought. It must feel like he's haunting them. I wonder how many it has killed so far.
  
  As the enchantments appeared, dark words curling across the paper, Fathom felt as though he was uncovering Darkstalker's most hidden thoughts and plans. No wonder he hadn't wanted Clearsight to see this side of him. There were spells to torment classmates he hated in small, creative ways. A spell that sent nightmares to haunt Queen Diamond with all the ways he planned to kill her.
  
  And then — Fathom sat forward so quickly he nearly set the scroll on fire.
  
  Enchant this pebble so that when it rolls into the same room as Indigo the SeaWing, she shall be instantly trapped inside the small wooden carving of a dragon made for me by Fathom.
  
  Right below it:
  
  Enchant this piece of paper to look like a note written in Indigo's handwriting, with a short, believable message saying she's leaving Fathom and not coming back.
  
  Fathom let out a cry of despair. He dropped the scroll and ran to his desk, where the little dragon carving had been sitting for months, quietly reminding him of his lost love.
  
  He picked it up and cradled it in his claws. "Indigo?" he whispered to her. "Indigo, I'm sorry — I'm sorry." He started to cry. "I should have listened to you. I should have realized how dangerous he was. I didn't know what he would do. I'm so sorry."
  
  I can still save her. If it will work. Albatross said I couldn't bring dragons back from the dead — but she's not dead — right? She's still in here, somewhere.
  
  This was it, the choice he'd feared would come again — the choice to save Indigo for the price of his soul.
  
  It was no choice at all.
  
  "Bring her back," he whispered fiercely to the carving. "Turn back into Indigo, my friend, exactly the way she was before Darkstalker did this to her."
  
  The carving twitched in his claws, suddenly warm to the touch. A soft glow surrounded the little dragon, and as he set it down on the floor it started to grow, and shift, and change.
  
  And then she was there, alive and right in front of him, herself again.
  
  Indigo stretched her wings as wide as they would go and pressed her talons down into the floor.
  
  "Yowch," she said. "Did I fall asleep? Great starfish, I'm hungry. Oh no, Fathom, why are you crying?"
  
  Her wings went around him and he held her close, sobbing with relief. "You're alive," he said shakily. "You didn't leave me."
  
  "Of course I didn't leave you," she said crossly, straightening up to face him. "I said I never would and I never will. Get that through your thick skull."
  
  "I love you," he said.
  
  The sun came out across her face, lighting up the world.
  
  "I thought you did," she said. "But you were being such a weirdo about it."
  
  "I'm still dangerous when I'm with you," he said. "But I never want to be without you again."
  
  "Sounds like my kind of plan," she said. "Exactly my plan, actually." She twined her tail around his.
  
  "We have to get out of here," he said. "A lot's happened — I have to tell you everything. But first …" He pulled away and hurried over to his trunk. "I need to know how bad it is." He held out the soul reader to her. "Indigo, I did something terrible. I used my magic."
  
  She took the soul reader out of his talons and threw it into the fountain.
  
  "Hey!" he protested, starting forward, but she stood in his way and flared her wings.
  
  "That thing doesn't know your soul," she said. "I know your soul. Tell me what you did."
  
  "I enchanted a bracelet to stop Darkstalker," he said. "And I brought you back from — you were — he did this spell — I brought you back."
  
  "Oh," she said. She glanced down at her scales, as if wondering whether they were real. "Wow. I guess I did miss something."
  
  "So I'm probably evil now," he said, his voice shaking. "Two spells like that — my soul could be almost gone. You need to know so you can get away from me."
  
  "ROARGH," Indigo cried. "Using your magic doesn't make you evil, Fathom! Doing evil things makes you evil! Have you done anything evil lately?"
  
  "Well," he said, faltering. "I betrayed my friend …"
  
  "The supervillain," she put in.
  
  "He's not —" Fathom hesitated. "Yeah, he sort of is."
  
  "Let me guess," she said. "You did something to stop him from killing loooooots and lots of innocent dragons."
  
  "Um," he said. "Yes. How did you know?"
  
  "Because I've met him," she said, "and I could see where that was going. So, sorry, no, doesn't count. Not evil."
  
  "I broke my oath to Pearl —"
  
  "To save dragons," she said.
  
  "To save you," he said.
  
  She shook her head. "Not evil."
  
  "Indigo —"
  
  "Shush. Fathom, listen. Our choices are what make us good or evil — what we do, how we help or hurt the world. You make the world a better place by being in it. With or without your magic, that's always been true."
  
  "Not really," he said. "Without my magic, I'm no one special."
  
  "How can you say that?" she said. "You're an artist. You're my friend. You're kind and funny. I'd call that special."
  
  "You're biased," he said, touching his snout to hers. He felt illuminated from the inside, as though he had luminescent scales lit up all the way through him.
  
  "I'm right," she said with a grin. They stood like that for a moment, smiling at each other.
  
  "Besides," she said, "you've stopped two actually evil animus dragons from destroying the world. That's pretty impressive."
  
  "Um," he said. "Well, maybe."
  
  "Maybe?" She tipped her head to the side.
  
  "I'm not sure yet if the enchantment on Darkstalker has worked. Clearsight just flew off with the bracelet and he's meeting her and hopefully she can use it on him, but it's possible she won't be able to, and then he'll be really mad, and then he might come back and … you know, destroy the world after all."
  
  "WHAT?" she said. "That's happening now? Right now?"
  
  "Right now," he admitted. "That's why we have to get out of here."
  
  "You didn't want to lead with that?" she cried. "You don't think maybe that's priority number one?" She whacked him with her tail. "I'm ready! Let's go! Escape first, save the sappy pep talk for later!"
  
  He ducked away, wondering how he could feel like laughing at a time like this. Quickly he rolled up the scroll and stowed it in its black leather case. Then he lifted up the top of his desk and reached his front talons inside.
  
  The little octopus clambered joyfully up his arm and waved all his tentacles at Indigo.
  
  "Blob!" she cried happily. She scooped him up and settled him on top of her head. "Hang on tight, little guy. We're going to be flying really fast."
  
  Blob seized her horns and scrunched down as if he was ready to steer.
  
  Indigo and Fathom brushed their wings together, ran onto the balcony, and leaped into the air.
  
  Below them, dragons were spilling out of the palace, out of the school, out of the ravines and canyons of the Night Kingdom. The NightWings were fleeing, their terror of Darkstalker driving them out of their homes to some unknown, faraway place where they might be safe, where he might never find them.
  
  Even if Clearsight's plan works, Fathom realized, that dagger he enchanted is going to make everyone think he's still alive for a long time — that he's out there hunting them.
  
  They might never come back here.
  
  I know I'll never come back here.
  
  "Farewell, Night Kingdom," he said softly.
  
  And then he turned and flew away forever, with Indigo right beside him.
  
  He found her near the peak of Agate Mountain, the tallest mountain in the Claws of the Clouds range. She was sitting in the mouth of a small cave, looking east to where the sun was rising over the twin peaks of Jade Mountain, casting dark green shadows over the valleys below.
  
  Darkstalker landed beside her, folding in his wings. It didn't look as though she'd brought anything with her. Where was his scroll? Had she used his magic? He hadn't felt any twinges from his spell on the scroll, so it seemed like she hadn't. But then why steal it?
  
  "Did you know," Clearsight said thoughtfully, "that this won't be the tallest mountain in Pyrrhia for much longer? There's going to be an earthquake soon and this whole side will collapse. Then Jade Mountain will be the tallest."
  
  "Is that supposed to be a metaphor?" Darkstalker said, flicking his tail back and forth. "Something about the most powerful dragon falling and someone else taking his place? Because it's a bit muddled. Not your best work."
  
  She actually laughed, just a little bit. "No," she said. "Not a metaphor. I just thought it was interesting. A piece of the future that is definitely true."
  
  "Anything about the future can be changed," he said. "Even that. I could enchant the mountain to stay up if I wanted to. We can make the future turn out however we like."
  
  "Not if we want different things," she said, pulling a small yellow wildflower out of the dirt. She started shredding it between her claws. "Not if we can't even agree on what is right and what is wrong."
  
  He took a step toward her. "If you don't want to be with me, just say so." He wanted to know … but he wasn't going to let her go. He loved her too much.
  
  "Nothing I did worked," she said. "I thought I was so careful, and we still ended up here. All that studying, all the timeline scrolls. Now it's all happened, and I can't change any of it, and I still don't know where it all went so wrong."
  
  "Because it didn't," he said, taking another step closer. "It's not wrong. We're on the right path, Clearsight. We're so close to our happy future. The bad part's almost over. Almost all my enemies are dead."
  
  "Including Indigo?" she asked. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and he froze for a moment. Does she know? Did she find the hidden spells? No … she's just guessing.
  
  "What do you mean?" he said. "Indigo left. That was nothing to do with me."
  
  "Maybe it started the first time you lied to me," she said, turning to the sunrise again. "Or maybe it was losing Foeslayer and not being able to do anything about it. Maybe it was all the small moments where you felt threatened or powerless or out of control, and all the things you did to fight those feelings."
  
  I've never been powerless, he thought. Nobody threatens me. "Everything I did was for a good reason," he said. "To protect you, or Whiteout, or our future dragonets. Why can't you trust me?"
  
  She took a deep breath and looked back into his eyes. "Or maybe it's just part of you, something you hatched with. Maybe that's what you really got from your father, along with your magic. Maybe you were always going to turn out this way, no matter how I tried to save you."
  
  He lunged toward her, fury flooding through his veins, and seized her wrist, twisting it painfully. "I'm nothing like my father," he snarled. "I don't need saving. I can choose my own future, and I like the one I see, and you're going to learn to like it, too. Where is my scroll?"
  
  Something slid coolly along his scales and he glanced down. Clearsight had slipped the moonstone bracelet off her own arm and onto his.
  
  For a brief flash of a moment her mind was open to him again, unguarded for the first time in years, and he saw with perfect clarity how she loved him, how she feared him, how many terrible futures lay before them, and how she was betraying him to save everyone else.
  
  Good-bye, my dearest love, her thoughts whispered.
  
  And then … blackness rushed up toward him, enfolding him in its wings, and he was gone.
  
  Clearsight would never forget the look on Darkstalker's face as he realized what she'd done. It was only there for a moment — the utter shock, the disbelief, the bewilderment and betrayal — and then his eyes closed and he collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.
  
  She knelt beside him, resting her talons lightly on his neck. His chest rose and fell steadily. He was still alive, still breathing, but he would never wake up again, not as long as the bracelet was on him.
  
  Darkstalker had made himself immortal and invulnerable to any kind of attack, but a simple sleeping spell had taken him down. Fathom had done his part well.
  
  Clearsight dragged Darkstalker far back into the cave, letting her tears fall but not stopping to give in to her grief. The cave ended in a small chamber, solid granite on all sides. She rolled him against the back wall and checked the bracelet to make sure it was securely fastened around Darkstalker's arm.
  
  Then she filled in the cave with boulders from the hillside, piling them up to hide the sleeping dragon inside. He could never be found, never be set free, or else Pyrrhia would be in danger all over again.
  
  When that was done, she found another mountain where she could watch and wait for the earthquake to come. Once Agate Mountain had collapsed, burying Darkstalker deep in the earth, she'd know it was safe to leave him there.
  
  The sun spread across her wings as she sat on the ridge, breathing in the light of the new dawn.
  
  It worked.
  
  I did this.
  
  All those futures I saw, all the plans I made to take us along the right paths … that's all gone now. We never got married. We never took the throne or stopped the war. We never had our dragonets.
  
  She closed her eyes, trying not to think about that. How could she mourn dragons who'd never existed in the first place? They were no more real than anything else about the timelines she'd shattered.
  
  But she could still see their faces in her mind, and she knew she would always miss them.
  
  What am I going to do now?
  
  She took a deep breath and let the new futures roll out before her.
  
  There was nothing for her back in the tribe. The other NightWings would never trust her again after seeing her on that stage with Darkstalker, even if she told them what she'd done to him — and she couldn't tell anyone that. No one could ever know where he was or how easy it would be to wake him up.
  
  Rejoining the tribe led to some more dangerous paths, too — the ones where she felt so alone, and missed him so much, that the temptation to return and release him became too great. Even knowing the Very Bad Things that would follow, she could see how she might fall.
  
  I could stay with him. I could lie down in the path of the avalanche and wait to die.
  
  Right now she was sad enough to think for a moment that maybe that was the best choice.
  
  But she was also a seer. She could feel her overpowering grief right now, and at the same time she could look into the future and see a time when she would not be this sad.
  
  There were futures where she was happy.
  
  There were futures where she didn't have to be afraid all the time about everything going horribly wrong.
  
  As hard as it was for her to believe right now, there were even futures with another love and other dragonets.
  
  She raised her wings and lifted her head to the blue-and-gold-streaked sky.
  
  She was sad and alone … but she was also free. Her life had been tangled up with Darkstalker's for so long — forever, from the moment she had her first vision of him — that she'd never before seen any glimpse of what it might look like without him.
  
  Clearsight remembered a long-ago dream that came from a scroll she used to love to read. It told stories of the lost continent and the secret tribes of dragons that lived there.
  
  In that dream, she was an explorer. She went out and found new worlds, places no NightWing had ever been or even imagined.
  
  Now she could see it — that dream could be real. Visions of a strange land were already unrolling behind her eyes, of unusual trees and odd animals and unfamiliar dragons that didn't match any tribes she knew. She knew where to go. She knew how to get there.
  
  The future was in her talons now, and she could do anything she wanted to do.
  
  Sun showers sprinkled the beach with little bursts of rain, sparkling in the cheerful sunlight. A coconut thumped softly onto the sand and rolled toward Indigo's talons. She picked it up, remembering the day of the animus test. She'd been so relieved to find she was normal, that she didn't have some kind of spooky magic lurking in her claws. And that was before she knew anything about animus power.
  
  It was nothing, though, compared to the relief she felt once they were sure none of their dragonets had it.
  
  "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH," Clearpool screamed. The little green dragonet stomped her feet furiously in the waves. "I can't GET IT! I'LL NEVER GET IT! ALL THE FISHES ARE STUPID!"
  
  "Remember the song about being patient?" Indigo said, patting her gently on the head. "You have to wait and wait and wait and then pounce."
  
  "I DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID!" she yelled. "I waited and waited and THEN POUNCEDED and it GOT AWAAAAAAAY."
  
  "Ah, well, there's your mistake," said Indigo. "You forgot one of the waits."
  
  Clearpool's wails cut off abruptly. The dragonet tipped her head, thinking. "Oh," she said. "Yeah, I did. OK, fish! I'ma get you now!"
  
  She splashed away, leaping over crabs and kicking sand in the hole her brothers were digging.
  
  "Roar!" Cowrie yelled at her. "Get your big galumphing talons out of here!"
  
  "I was NOT galumphing!" Clearpool yelled back. "THIS is GALUMPHING!" She slammed her feet into the sand like a woozy elephant and the whole side of Cowrie's hole collapsed.
  
  Over the ensuing shrieks of fury, Indigo felt Fathom come wading up behind her. She spread her wings and they leaned into each other, and she felt, like she always did, that she could grow roots right here and be happy entwined with him forever.
  
  "I think," she said, "that we may have named the wrong dragonet after Clearsight."
  
  "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Clearpool howled again, flinging herself into the shallow water and rolling around in a fit of temper. "THIS BROTHER IS A KELP-FACE!" Indigo buried her face in Fathom's neck, hiding her giggles.
  
  "Maybe she'll grow into her quiet wisdom," Fathom said. "Like you did."
  
  "I beg your pardon?" Indigo said. "ME? I have ALWAYS been quiet and wise."
  
  "I seem to recall just a few shrieking fits when you were that age," he said, starting to laugh. "Remember the time I ate the last salmon at breakfast?"
  
  "You didn't just eat it!" she cried. "You were smug about it! You totally deserved to be dumped in the koi pond!"
  
  Cowrie and Clearpool were wrestling now, getting absolutely covered in wet sand. Next to them, Ripple popped his head out of his own hole, realized that someone else was getting more attention than he was, and promptly scrambled over to flop on top of his brother and sister.
  
  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Clearpool shouted at him. "GET OFF!"
  
  "I looooooooooooooove youuuuuuu," Ripple said, poking his snout in their faces. Blob clambered out of the hole behind him and lolloped over to join the pile.
  
  "Arrgh! Yuck!" Cowrie flailed his wings as he tried to get free. "Ripple! You're squashing me! DAAAAD! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
  
  "Everyone stop squashing one another," Fathom called without moving.
  
  "RIPPLE IS THE SQUASHER!" Clearpool bellowed.
  
  "Quit mashing one another into the sand and I'll tell you a story," Indigo said.
  
  The three dragonets instantly jumped away from one another and came scampering over, plunking themselves into an attentive semicircle around their parents' talons, with Blob perched happily on Ripple's head.
  
  "Tell us about the Kingdom of the Sea again!" Clearpool demanded. "And all the palaces!"
  
  "It looks a lot like this," Fathom said, flicking his tail at the island around them. "Maybe we'll take you there one day, when you're all grown up."
  
  When there's a new queen, who doesn't know about Fathom's promise to Pearl, Indigo thought. Their island was off the southern coast of Pyrrhia, within sight of the rainforest, and they kept up with tribe news by visiting and trading with RainWings every couple of months or so. That's how they knew that the NightWings had vanished, and nobody knew where they'd gone. There had been stories of Darkstalker sightings everywhere for a while, and then gradually fewer and fewer until they dwindled away. Clearsight must have succeeded, but Indigo wished sometimes that she knew exactly what had happened, and where Clearsight was now.
  
  As for their own tribe, surely Wharf and Lionfish must have returned home after they lost Fathom, still believing Indigo had left him. Queen Pearl probably thought Fathom and Indigo were both dead, or that Fathom had fled with the NightWings. She never needed to find out that they were alive, and together, and happy.
  
  It had taken Indigo such a long time to convince Fathom that it was all right for him to be happy. That he wasn't a secret monster waiting to be unleashed. That he wasn't the one who did all those terrible things, and they weren't his fault, and he didn't have to punish himself forever.
  
  "I want to hear about you and Mommy," Ripple said. Blob snuggled around his neck, flipping his tentacles contentedly. "About stuff you did when you were little like us."
  
  "Oh, we were very good," Fathom said solemnly. "We were never, ever naughty."
  
  "FIBS!" Clearpool cried, splashing him with her tail. "You were, too!"
  
  "Well," Fathom said, "all right, I suppose Mommy was, sometimes." Indigo whacked him with her tail and he grinned at her.
  
  "Mommy," said Cowrie, "do you know any stories about bad guys?"
  
  Indigo and Fathom exchanged a glance and Indigo felt a weird shiver, like someone was swimming over her grave.
  
  "What do you want to know about bad guys?" Fathom asked.
  
  "Like, how do they get that way," Cowrie said, poking a piece of driftwood. "And why do they do bad stuff."
  
  "Well," Fathom said slowly, "there are lots of ways, and lots of reasons. Sometimes it's because they're sad or angry. Some dragons become bad when they have too much power."
  
  "And some don't," Indigo said, twining her tail around Fathom's. If there was one thing she believed with her entire soul, it was that Fathom had too much goodness in him to ever turn out like Albatross or Darkstalker. He was kind and good all the way through.
  
  "Sometimes … sometimes they don't know they're bad guys," Fathom went on. "They think what they're doing is the right thing."
  
  "Oh," said Cowrie. "So who decides if it's the right thing or not?"
  
  Fathom hesitated, looking lost.
  
  "ME!" Clearpool suggested.
  
  "How would I know if I was a bad guy?" Cowrie added with a worried wrinkle between his eyes.
  
  "I would tell you," Indigo said, "and then you'd go back to being good."
  
  "Or me! I'd tell you and whack you and smush you!" Clearpool offered with great enthusiasm.
  
  "You do that even when I'm being super good," Cowrie pointed out.
  
  "You know, there's really no such thing as bad guys," Fathom said unexpectedly, and Indigo gave him a quizzical look. They had plenty of evidence that that wasn't true.
  
  "There isn't?" Ripple echoed.
  
  "I mean … there are dragons who do bad things," Fathom said. "But maybe that doesn't make them all bad. Maybe they can also do good things. Maybe some of those bad things are just mistakes."
  
  "No," Indigo said firmly. "Some dragons are definitely bad and have to be stopped."
  
  "I don't know," Fathom said. "I don't think any dragons are all bad."
  
  "Then you have a selective memory, my love," said Indigo. "We knew a bad guy once," she said to the dragonets.
  
  They all gasped with delighted horror.
  
  "A dragon who did bad things," Fathom amended. "But also some good things, and he cared a lot about his friends." He saw the look on Indigo's face and added quickly, "Mostly bad things, though. Anyway, he's gone now."
  
  "That's right," Indigo agreed. "He's gone, and he's never coming back."
  
  "Will you tell us about him?" Cowrie asked, his blue eyes round and dazzled.
  
  "And how you WHACKED him and SMUSHED him?" Clearpool cried.
  
  "Maybe when you're older," Indigo said. Maybe when Fathom has stopped having nightmares about him. She smiled down at her squirming, beautiful, hilarious dragonets. "Race you to the seal rocks!"
  
  They pelted off down the beach, shrieking with laughter, and Indigo nudged Fathom with her wing.
  
  "It's true. He's really never coming back," she said. "You did the right thing, Fathom. You saved Pyrrhia from him forever. It's safe to be happy."
  
  "I know," he said. He unfurled his wings, shaking off the memories, and gave her the smile she'd fallen in love with back when they were tiny dragonets. "I am."
  
  Centuries later, as the dragon planet spun through space, a comet passed by, close enough to shine like a fourth moon in Pyrrhia's sky.
  
  Close enough to change the tides and shake the continents.
  
  As earthquakes rumbled through the ground, long-buried rocks shifted that had been in place for thousands of years.
  
  Deep underground, in the darkness, copper wires snapped.
  
  And a dragon awoke …