The light from the tree was too bright and she could feel her eyes watering. She turned to pace back to the wall, rubbing her face with one talon. A couple more decades with Mother as their queen. Maybe longer. That was what they should have had; that was what Darkstalker stole.
She hadn’t really had a plan for challenging her mother anytime soon. She’d thought there would be plenty of time ahead of them before she had to worry about that. Or that certain sisters would get there first.
“I guess I don’t know,” Lynx said, catching up to her. And walking BESIDE her instead of a few steps behind! How had this dragon done so well on her exams? Did she not know any royal etiquette at all?
“I guess,” Lynx went on, “maybe it had to be sooner because you needed to challenge her before Icicle did, right? Or someone else? Maybe it’s better this way, with her giving you the throne instead of you having to take it.”
“I could have taken it,” Snowfall assured her. “Anytime I wanted to.”
She remembered Queen Glacier lying on her deathbed, gripping one of Snowfall’s talons and staring intently up at her.
She remembered her sisters watching from the queen’s other side, Crystal’s eyes glittering in the blue twilight, Mink sobbing.
“I will not have our tribe suffer the fate of the Kingdom of Sand,” Glacier breathed between spasms of coughing. “There will be no War of IceWing Succession. Do you three understand me?”
Mink nodded frantically, although, at age two, she knew almost nothing about the war and probably couldn’t even name the sisters — Blister, Blaze, and Burn — that she and Crystal and Snowfall might become.
“We promise, Mother,” Crystal said in her frail, slippery-sweet voice. They were all sick at that point, although they didn’t know yet that the plague came from Darkstalker’s magic. But Crystal had draped herself in diaphanous scarf-veils that managed to make even the plague look glamorous. “Nobody wants another war.”
Even though Crystal had actually fought in the War of SandWing Succession, she hadn’t come back noticeably tougher or more aggressive. She actually seemed a bit less there. She kept staring out of windows and losing track of conversations, probably thinking about all the deaths she’d witnessed, Snowfall guessed. She could easily believe that Crystal didn’t want the tribe, or especially herself, to face any more battles.
“We’ll just fight each other,” Snowfall said. “We won’t drag anyone else into it. A normal duel, over in a day.” Could I beat Crystal in a fight? Maybe right now, while she’s sicker with the plague than I am. Crystal was three years older, slightly taller, a little lazy, and a bit of an overthinker. Snowfall could probably use those last two to her advantage.
Do I really have to kill her, though? Snowfall didn’t know if she could handle one more dead IceWing. She didn’t know if her claws could add to the death toll.
Mink sniffled, and Snowfall felt a small lurch in her chest. Mink wouldn’t want to be queen, would she? Surely she wouldn’t try to be in the duel …
“No,” Glacier snarled. She crushed Snowfall’s wrist in her talons with painful ferocity. “You will not fight each other. I am going to choose the next IceWing queen.”
Crystal rubbed the edges of her wings together, a nervous habit that made a jittering sound, which drove Snowfall mad. “But,” Crystal started. “But that — that’s never —”
“You must swear on the spirits beneath the ice,” Glacier said fiercely. “Whoever I choose to be queen, the other two will support her. You’ll help her save the tribe and keep the peace. No duels. No fighting. No war. Do you understand?”
Snowfall glanced across at her sisters. Of course Mother would choose Crystal — the oldest, the calmest, the one other dragons liked. Crystal had never clawed her way to the top of the rankings like Snowfall, but she didn’t seem to care even half as much. Did swearing this oath mean Snowfall would have to give up on the throne forever?
“For how long?” she asked. “I mean … tradition says no one should challenge a new queen for the first month of her reign — is that what you mean? Or for longer?”
“Longer,” Glacier rasped. “The tribe will need stability after this plague.” If any of us survive it, was the unspoken murmur under her words.
“So …” Snowfall studied Crystal’s bowed head for a moment. “A year?”
Glacier sighed, a sad whisper of wind across a frozen lake. “I don’t want you three to fight,” she said, closing her eyes. “Ever.”
“I won’t,” Mink cried. She climbed up onto the bed with their mother and crept under Glacier’s wing. “I won’t ever hurt them, Mommy, I p-promise. I love them and I love you and we’ll all be r-really good.”
Crystal lifted her gaze and met Snowfall’s eyes. Hers were clear blue as the sky, and Snowfall couldn’t read them at all. Was she angry that their mother was asking them to break centuries of IceWing tradition with a promise like this? Or was that a look of triumph, knowing that if she agreed, Snowfall would never be able to take her throne?
“I’ll swear, too,” Crystal said. “No fighting. Whatever you want, Mother.”
“Snowfall?” Glacier said.
Snowfall felt as though sharp talons were raking the words out of her throat. “I swear,” she choked out. “I’ll support the new queen. I won’t challenge her.”
For now, her brain couldn’t help adding. For … a while, at least. She tried to shut it off, but it kept whispering. Maybe one day …
“Good.” Glacier opened her eyes again and tucked Mink in closer with her wing. She reached for the glittering diamond crown on the side table. “The next queen of the IceWings is Snowfall. That is final.”
A shocked numbness seized Snowfall’s scales, spreading out to her wingtips and tail. She felt the heavy weight of the crown settling down around her temples. Crystal’s face was unreadable, a blur over Mother’s shoulder.
Me. She chose me. I’m the next queen of the IceWings. Not Crystal.
She thinks I’d be the best queen.
Is she right? What if she’s wrong?
Now I’m the one who has to protect us from the NightWings.
And I’m the one who has to find a cure for this plague before any more dragons die.
Queen Snowfall.
Crystal bowed to Snowfall with a swoop of her wings, murmured something like “congratulations,” and excused herself to check on something in the kitchens. She was beside the bed again, veiled and coughing, when Queen Glacier died later that night — shortly after the queen told Snowfall, far too late, about the animus who might be able to save them.
But the next morning, Crystal was gone, and Snowfall hadn’t seen her since.
So. One could see why she might find that worrying.
She cut a suspicious glance at Lynx. “Do you actually think it’s better? That I’m queen? You don’t wish it was … someone else instead?”
“You mean Crystal?” Lynx asked, saying the quiet part loud again, like an absolute beluga. “I don’t know her very well. She had just left for the war front when I came to the palace. Whenever I did see her, I got the impression she was hiding something.”
“Isn’t everybody?” Snowfall said with a snort.
Lynx scrunched up her snout and thought for a second. “I’m not.”
“You were spying on me,” Snowfall pointed out.
“Sure, but not very well,” Lynx argued.
Snowfall was tired of being rained on. She turned away from the wall and went through the nearest archway, shaking her wet wings over the icy floor. It was marginally warmer inside the walls of the palace, but it would still take a while to feel dry.
Lynx followed her into the ballroom, where a pair of servants was changing the faded light globes in the chandeliers. They took one look at the queen, or maybe at the queen’s thunderous expression, and fled through one of the upper balconies, their task only half-finished. Snowfall frowned after them.
“Well, I don’t know Crystal,” Lynx went on,
“but I knew Queen Glacier and she was brilliant. She chose you. That’s good enough for me.”
“That’s it?” Snowfall rounded on her with a hiss. “So you don’t think I’m actually good enough to be queen? If it were up to you, it wouldn’t be me! You’re only supporting me because my mother thought it was a good idea?!”
“Three MOONS, Snowfall!” Lynx took a step back. “I’m sure you’ll be a good queen! Except maybe if you have a meltdown because all the dragons around you are awful and you yell at anyone who tries to be nice to you!”
“Oh, is THAT what this is?” Snowfall said. “You’re being NICE to me? Thank you SO MUCH, that’s JUST what I needed.”
“See, you’re being sarcastic,” Lynx said, “but it is what you need, walrus-breath.”
“You can’t call the queen a walrus-breath!” Snowfall shouted. “It’s not allowed AND it’s not nice! Where are my executioners when I need them?”
“You don’t have those,” Lynx said, with a distinct lack of concern in her voice. “Hey, I know what would help. Want to go for a swim?”
“NO, I OBVIOUSLY DON’T WANT TO GO FOR A SWIM!” Snowfall yelled, even though swimming had once been one of her favorite things. She wondered if Lynx had actually remembered that. “I don’t have TIME for that kind of nonsense! I am RULING A KINGDOM RIGHT NOW, not that you’ve apparently noticed!”
“But don’t you need a break?” Lynx asked. “I think it would make you feel better.”
Snowfall dug her claws into the ice below her. “I don’t have time to feel better,” she said through gritted teeth. “My sister has gone into hiding, probably so she can kill me; animus magic is broken so I can’t use it to fix ANYTHING; and there are hundreds of evil mystery dragons flying DIRECTLY AT OUR BORDER RIGHT THE HECK NOW. They will probably BE HERE BY TOMORROW. To do SOMETHING NEFARIOUS, I don’t know what, but PROBABLY INVOLVING MURDER! WHEN AM I SUPPOSED TO FIT A LEISURELY SWIM INTO ALL OF THAT, LYNX?”
Lynx stared at her, blinking fast for a long moment. “Well,” she said finally, “no one said it had to be a leisurely swim —”
“EXECUTIONERS!” Snowfall bellowed.
“Great Ice Spirits, Snowfall, take a breath!” Lynx grabbed one of Snowfall’s gesticulating talons and gripped it between hers. “Tell me about the hundreds of evil mystery dragons.”
“That is top secret information,” Snowfall said haughtily. “Not for insignificant dragonets to know.”
“But you clearly need to talk about it,” Lynx pointed out. “Just tell me and I promise I’ll keep it a secret if you want me to.”
Words started spilling out of Snowfall against her will. “Hundreds,” she said. “Hundreds of strange dragons. On their way here. Right now.”
“I got that part,” Lynx said. “That’s all the information I already have. But do you mean real dragons? Not paranoid-made-up-hypothetical dragons?”
Snowfall began to swell with indignation and Lynx jumped in before she could start yelling again.
“All right! Sorry, just checking! I believe you. Hundreds of mystery dragons. Um … from where?”
“I don’t know!” Snowfall cried. “That’s the problem! One of the problems! Maybe Crystal went to get an army to destroy me. Maybe the NightWings want to finish what they started with the plague. Maybe Coral and Glory have formed an alliance and decided to take me down!”
“But … why would they do that?” Lynx asked.
“BECAUSE EVERYONE IS EVIL!” Snowfall shouted. She yanked her talon out of Lynx’s grasp.
“Snowfall! Everyone just got out of a war! None of the queens in Pyrrhia want to get back into another one! Listen, listen. How do you know about the hundreds of dragons?”
“One of my scouts,” Snowfall said. “He was out scouting the western ocean and saw them coming from a distance. They landed on an island out there, but he said they were regrouping to fly again soon.”
Lynx scrunched up her face in a thinking-hard expression that Snowfall knew very well from years of sitting next to her in class.
“From a distance? Across the western ocean?” Her eyes went suddenly wide. “Three moons. Snowfall! What if they’re from the lost continent?”
“How have you ever beaten me on a test?” Snowfall demanded. “Does your brain even work at all? The lost continent isn’t real! It’s a myth!”
“Unless it is real, and we’re about to get hundreds of visitors to prove it!” Lynx was nearly dancing on her claws now. Snowfall wanted to drop a mountain on her.
“That is not better!” Snowfall shouted. “Dragons from a whole other continent?! Invading MY KINGDOM? They must be coming to steal our land! And treasure! What if they have extra-murdery superpowers we’ve never even thought of? Or WEIRD DISEASES, Lynx, what if they have WEIRD DISEASES THAT WILL KILL US?”
“We can’t worry about all of that until it actually happens,” Lynx said with an “I’m so practical” expression that made Snowfall feel like screaming.
“Yes, we can!” Snowfall cried. “I’m worrying about all of it right now!”
“OK,” Lynx said. “Sure. But maybe they come in peace.”
Snowfall’s scales wanted to leap off her and go running up the walls, shrieking or exploding or whapping into everything. She couldn’t even hold all the things inside of her that might go horribly and dramatically wrong.
“Snowfall,” Lynx said. She folded her wings forward around Snowfall’s head, like a dome of white curtains, and looked into Snowfall’s eyes.
It was impertinent, but it cast an irresistible stillness around them.
“Queen Snowfall,” Snowfall reminded her. It was kind of peaceful not to be able to see the palace. This was what she wanted for the whole tribe: a wall of solid scales around them, blocking everything else out.
“Queen Snowfall,” Lynx echoed. “You said they’ll be here tomorrow? So let’s fly to the western coast and meet them. Let’s find out who they are and what they want before we panic. I mean, bit late for that, clearly, but we can save the more epic panicking for when we actually know something.”
“We?” Snowfall said. “Meaning me and my whole army?”
“Meaning you and me,” Lynx said. “And one guard, if you must.”
“Terrible plan,” Snowfall said. “The worst. I hate it.”
“Great.” Lynx grinned at her. “See you at the front gate at dawn.”
She trotted away, like a dragon with no worries in the whole world, and Snowfall was left staring into the walls of the palace. Pale shimmering blue drizzled down through the translucent ice, reflecting the weather outside with phosphorescent magic. The gift of elegance, crafted by a long-ago animus with no sense at all.
Why couldn’t it be a “gift of invincibility,” or a “gift of unlimited-every-queen-gets-magic-now” or a “gift of crush-your-enemies-with-one-thought”? It was so unfair (and deeply suspicious) that animus magic stopped working EXACTLY when Snowfall found out about Jerboa. She should have had at least one animus gift — she had so many great ideas!
Didn’t animus dragons know about the danger from other tribes two thousand years ago? Was the one who made the Great Ice Cliff the only smart one?
Suddenly a thought hit her, a thought so brilliant it made her gasp.
There were other animus dragons before we lost Prince Arctic. Other gifts.
She knew where she needed to go.
The Forbidden Treasury.
Most of the IceWing treasure, including Snowfall’s awful crown, was kept in the regular treasury — a guarded vault close to the center of the palace.
But there was another treasury, one known only to a few and spoken of in whispers. It was buried in an ice cave deep below the palace, and the only way to get there was through a secret passage from the queen’s own rooms. No one but queens and princesses had been down there in hundreds of years, or perhaps ever. Only the queens and princesses were even sure it was real.
Had it been conjured by an animus sometime long ago? A gift of secre
ts? Or did a queen in their ancient past once order workers to carve out the cave and the passage with their own claws?
Snowfall didn’t know. She didn’t think her mother had known either, although now she wished she had asked more questions.
At the door of her royal chambers, a tiny dragonet was sitting between the guards. Her eyes were large and dark blue, and her scales were white with feathery patterns of gray along her wings, like whiskers or tufts of fur. The guards had clearly been chatting with her, but they snapped to attention as Snowfall approached, and the little dragon scrambled to her feet as well.
“Hi, Snowfall,” Mink blurted. “Um, um, um, I m-made you something.” She reached into a small pouch slung across her back and brought out a tiny block of ice, carved with great care into, as far as Snowfall could tell, a blob.
Mink gently placed it into Snowfall’s talons with an expression of bashful pride.
“Oh … uh, thank you.” Snowfall turned it around a few times, wondering which end was up. “It’s … great.”
“It’s a mink!” her little sister said. “Like me! But, um, an actual mink, not a dragon mink. See the whiskers? And the ears?”
“Sure,” Snowfall said doubtfully.
“It’s just to say I love you,” Mink said shyly.
This would have been sweet, if it weren’t for the fact that Mink loved literally everyone. Snowfall was pretty sure every dragon in the whole palace had at least one of Mink’s “I love you” gifts. The queen’s room was still cluttered with them: miniature unidentifiable ice sculptures on every surface.
Snowfall hadn’t seen her tiny, flibbertigibbet sister very much since becoming queen. There were dragons in charge of her education and training, and Snowfall assumed they’d carried on since Queen Glacier’s death the same as they had before. Mink’s life shouldn’t have changed very much at all.
“Well. Thank you,” Snowfall said, aware of the guards’ eyes on her. “Now, I’m very busy, so —”
“Oh, can’t I please come in?” Mink pleaded. “I miss M-Mommy’s room.”
Snowfall frowned at her. “You miss her room?”
“I s-slept in there sometimes when I c-couldn’t fall asleep,” Mink explained.
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