Wings of Fire Book Four: The Dark Secret (6 page)

Starflight was too intrigued by this strange biological phenomenon to register that he’d just been called defective as well as useless.

“Listen, it might not make you sick, but I think it would make
me
sick,” Starflight said. He wished he could write all this down. Were there any scrolls about NightWing bites and what they did to their prey? Maybe he could study the tribe and write the first one. “I’m not used to eating infected carrion. Scientifically I would assume it’s something you have to adjust to over time, as your dragonets will have done, growing up with a diet like this. But I won’t have the correct antibodies to keep me safe. It’s not worth the risk.”

The enormous black dragon had paused midbite and was staring at Starflight with his mouth open.

“Well,” he said after a long moment, “that answers that question.”

“What question?” Starflight asked.

Morrowseer picked at his teeth with one claw and lashed his tail.

“Now I know who your father is.”

The wind off the ocean seized the tree branches and rattled them fiercely.

Starflight dug his talons into the ground.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten to wonder who his parents were — it was more that he was terrified to hear the answer. A father like Morrowseer or Vengeance, or a mother like Greatness or Fierceteeth … perhaps it would be better never to find out, rather than have his dreams meet the inevitably awful reality.

But suddenly, the idea that a real dragon, somewhere on this island, was connected to him and might care about him was almost too much to bear.

It’s what Sunny and I always talked about — finding our parents.

“My father,” he whispered. “Didn’t you know who he was before?”

“There were a few possibilities,” Morrowseer said grimly. “But only one other dragon I know talks like you.”

He talks like
me
.

“Well, this is guaranteed to make him even more insufferable,” Morrowseer muttered, shredding the other albatross wing and stuffing scraps of meat in his mouth. “He’s been claiming it was his egg for the last six years.”

“Can I meet him?” Starflight asked.

“Oh, there’s no getting out of that.” Morrowseer’s tail twitched. “I’m surprised he didn’t track you down the moment you were dragged in. Must be in the middle of another big experiment. Nose in his scrolls … probably hasn’t even noticed that we’re about to go to war.”

He wants to meet me. He’ll be looking for me.

“What about my mother?” Starflight asked. “Could — could I meet her?”

“No,” Morrowseer said, plucking a feather off his tongue. “Dead. Died a few years ago.”

“Oh.” Starflight didn’t understand the wave of sadness that seemed to punch him in the chest. He hadn’t known her. She’d agreed to give up her egg for the prophecy, so she couldn’t have been very attached to him. She was probably as bad as Coral, or Clay’s mother.

Still.

“How did she die?” Starflight tried not to look at the mess Morrowseer was making of the albatross. Dune and Kestrel had always insisted on strict table manners and cleanliness, since they were all trapped under the mountain together, in just a few caves with nowhere to escape to if someone ate their prey in a loud, annoying way.

“She got herself involved in a battle — tried to help a SeaWing who’d been attacked by two SkyWings.” Morrowseer grunted. “Idiot. So obviously you didn’t get that brain from
her
.” He narrowed his eyes at Starflight and waved one of the bird bones at him. “Enough. I have questions for you.”

“I really don’t know anything,” Starflight said in a hurry.

“How dangerous is that RainWing?” Morrowseer asked, ignoring him. “Our studies indicate that most RainWings care only about themselves and prefer everything to be easy. Accurate?”

Starflight nodded. He really desperately didn’t want to betray Glory in any way. But he couldn’t think of a way to avoid Morrowseer’s questions or lie to him when Morrowseer was sure to read the truth in his mind.

To his surprise, Morrowseer’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “So perhaps they won’t do anything. Perhaps they’ll roll over and go back to sleep.”

Starflight realized that Morrowseer had misunderstood him — he’d only meant that laziness was true of most RainWings, but the NightWing had heard that it was true of Glory as well.

“Maybe,” he said noncommittally. He tried not to think about how Glory would never let this go — how she would fight tooth and claw to rescue the RainWing prisoners. It had been strange seeing her like that, as if she’d borrowed Tsunami’s ferocity for a day. For years Glory had acted as though she didn’t care about anything. But apparently
imprisoning and torturing members of her tribe was one way to get her attention.

He remembered what the council had said. “What plan was the council talking about?” he asked. “What is it we don’t want the RainWings to know?”

He stumbled over the words, trying to say “we” as if he could be part of this tribe. But he wanted Morrowseer to feel as if Starflight was on his side, that he could be trusted. It was a trick he’d seen Sunny use a few times when Glory and Tsunami were fighting — “Why are we mad at Tsunami today?” “Now what has Glory done to us?” — and it often worked.

Not this time, though.

“The less you know, the better,” Morrowseer snapped. “You’ll get in less trouble that way.”

That wasn’t generally Starflight’s philosophy. He’d say knowing more was always better than knowing less.

Morrowseer ripped the last chunk of flesh off the bird and spat out several more feathers. “If you’re determined to starve,” he muttered, and devoured the wing he’d thrown to Starflight in a few bites. “Very well,” he grumbled, “let’s go see Mastermind.” He flung the remains of the bird into the bushes and jumped into the sky. “Then I’ll take you to the alternates,” he said over his shoulder.

“The what?” Starflight asked, but Morrowseer was winging away quickly and didn’t look back.

Starflight followed him, still thinking about the way NightWings hunted. It explained a few things, including the
bad breath on all the dragonets in the dormitory. Oddly, Deathbringer didn’t seem to have the same smell. Starflight wondered if the assassin spent more time on the continent than other NightWings and had learned to prefer live prey over carrion, like most dragons.

Ahead of them, the NightWing fortress loomed, black against the gray sky. It was massive, built in layers that wrapped halfway around the mountain. But it also looked somehow precarious, as if one rock shelf could shift underneath it and the whole thing might suddenly slide all the way into the ocean.

In fact … Starflight squinted. It was hard to see at first, black on black in the dark smoky air, but as they got closer he was sure. Part of the fortress had been swallowed by lava, clearly some time ago. A whole corner of the building, at least as big as Queen Scarlet’s gladiator arena, was covered by a hardened mass of black rock bubbles. It looked like a giant dragon had reached out of the mountain and slammed its talons down over the walls.

Starflight glanced up uneasily at the plume of steam rising from the top of the volcano. Orange-gold fire glowed from inside, and he knew that streams of molten lava ran down at least one face of the mountain, toward the caves where the RainWings were trapped, if Glory’s description was right. Surely another eruption could come anytime, endangering the rest of the fortress.

That thought made him even more nervous about following Morrowseer back inside, but he didn’t have much choice.
The large NightWing ducked into a mouthlike opening on the highest level of the fortress. The tunnels here were lit with hanging chandeliers of torches as well as the niches of coals Starflight had seen before. The stone under his talons felt smoother and more polished, as if it was frequently swept or mopped, unlike the lower tunnels.

Starflight thought of the gold dragon prints in the Sky Palace, the emerald-studded throne in the Kingdom of the Sea, and the colorful flowers that wound all around the RainWing village. There was nothing like that here — nothing to break up the monotony of the stone walls, nothing to showcase the wealth and power of the NightWings.

Then again, I guess no one ever comes here,
he thought.
Instead of trying to impress other dragons with opulence, they do it with mystery.
He could see how that would make sense. But it would have been nice to see something besides fire and rock in all directions.

As they turned a corner, Starflight paused and looked back. He thought he’d heard — but maybe he was imagining things. But — it had sounded like claws
tip-tapping
on the stone behind them.

He stared along the dark tunnel, and suddenly had a shivery feeling of hope.
Maybe it’s Glory,
he thought.
Maybe she’s here and camouflaged; maybe she’s come to rescue me.
He couldn’t imagine how she would have gotten past the NightWing guards who must be posted around the hole. In fact, if he were in charge, he’d have stuck a NightWing
in
the
tunnel at all times, just to be sure no one could invisibly squeeze by. But maybe the NightWings weren’t that smart.

There it was again.
Tap tap tap.
Definitely talons, although whoever it was wasn’t doing a terrific job of being stealthy.
Glory is much better at sneaking than that. Maybe Clay?

It was awful how much his chest hurt with hope. If only it were Clay! If only that big brown head would poke around the bend, see him, and grin. Starflight promised the universe that he would never, ever make fun of Clay again, if only the MudWing would suddenly be here, rescuing him.

“Keep up!” Morrowseer growled from up ahead.

Starflight realized that he was really being an idiot. If someone were trying to sneak up behind them to rescue him, it wouldn’t much help if Starflight stood there staring at them. He started to turn to follow Morrowseer — but just then a head
did
poke around the last corner.

It wasn’t Clay. Or Glory or Tsunami … or Sunny.

It was just a NightWing dragonet.

She stared right at him for a startled moment, and then he shrugged and turned away — but at the same time she yelped, “Oh my gosh, it’s you!” and bolted up to him, grabbing his front talons.

“I had a vision about you,” she declared grandly. He froze in the act of trying to pull his talons away. “Have you had any visions about me?”

“You did?” Starflight said, blinking. She appeared to be his own age. So if she was having visions, that meant
dragonets
did
develop their powers before they were full-grown. Which meant Starflight should have
something
by now.

But he didn’t. Whenever he tried to read minds or see the future, it was like staring into the night sky — empty and cold and meaningless.

He hadn’t admitted that to Morrowseer yet.

Speaking of whom — the floor now trembled ominously as the older NightWing came thundering back along the tunnel to them. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw the new dragonet.

“FATESPEAKER!” he roared so loud that Starflight thought the volcano might erupt right then. “I told you to stay in your cave with the others!”

“I know, I heard you,” she said cheerfully. “But I got bored and I wanted to explore and I saw you flying by, so I thought I’d come, too. I can’t believe I’m in the NightWing fortress at last! I’ve had lots of prophetic dreams about it, you know,” she said conspiratorially to Starflight. She still had his front talons pressed between hers. “Although in those it was actually bigger and lighter and smelled way less terrible, plus it had a lot more treasure and seriously less grouchy dragons.” She thought for a moment. “Hmm. Maybe they were just regular dreams.”

“Fatespeaker,” Morrowseer hissed. “What did I say about keeping your visions to yourself?”

“You said ‘Shut up about your visions. I’m not remotely interested,’” Fatespeaker answered. “But that doesn’t mean
this
dragon isn’t interested. Aren’t you interested?” she said to Starflight.

He was, but he did not think it would be wise to admit that in front of Morrowseer, who had smoke rising from his nostrils. Starflight tried to study the dragonet without obviously staring.

Fatespeaker’s black scales shimmered with underscales of deep blue and purple. Like Starflight’s wings, hers were scattered with silver scales on the underside, so they looked like part of the night sky. But unlike his, Fatespeaker had several extra silver scales — one at the outside corner of each eye, a band circling one ankle, and a few lone ones sparkling along her tail like starry freckles.

“Anyway, I just know you’re terribly important,” she said to him, releasing his talons. “And that we have a great destiny together.”

We do?
he thought hopefully. Perhaps he was going to survive the NightWing fortress after all.
Am I actually useful in this great destiny? Are my friends there? Am I with Sunny?
He wished he could ask her questions without Morrowseer breathing furiously over their heads.

“Go back to the others,” Morrowseer ordered.

“Oh, can’t I come with you?” Fatespeaker asked. She gave Morrowseer a pleading look. “I foresee that I’ll be
really helpful
with whatever you’re about to do! Also that I’ll find it totally interesting!”

“I — don’t think that counts as foreseeing,” Starflight said. “It sounds more like guessing.”

Morrowseer growled deep in his throat. “Very well. Keep your mouth shut and don’t get in the way.”

“As if I would!” Fatespeaker said happily, immediately tripping Starflight with her tail.

Morrowseer stomped away, muttering. Fatespeaker gave Starflight an enormous smile that reminded him of Sunny. He wondered if Sunny missed him, and whether she felt anything like the ache that filled his chest whenever he thought of her.

“Oh my, sad face,” Fatespeaker said, nudging Starflight’s wing as they walked. “Cheer up. What’s your name?”

“That wasn’t in your vision?” Starflight tilted his head curiously. He’d always wondered how much detail the visions had. The prophecy Morrowseer had delivered years ago was remarkably cryptic, but perhaps there was more information in the seer’s head that he hadn’t shared.

“Um …” Fatespeaker wobbled her head back and forth, squinting thoughtfully at him. “Oh, of course — Bigtoes!”

“What?” Starflight glanced down at his talons, a little offended. “No, no. It’s Starflight.”

“Oh,” she said. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

She shrugged. “Well, I was close. Hi, Starflight! I’m Fatespeaker. You’re probably wondering why you’ve never seen me before.”

Starflight paused midstep and frowned at her. “Am I?”

“It’s because I didn’t grow up here,” she carried on blithely without noticing his reaction. Morrowseer’s growl
echoed down the corridor and they both started walking faster. “I only got to the island yesterday. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I was raised by the Talons of Peace!”