“So, what do the Outclaws do?” Sunny asked.
He fluffed his wings, scattering sand in all directions. “Everything. We keep the Scorpion Den from becoming a mess of blood and teeth, which it used to be, with everyone fighting all the time, till we sorted ’em all out. And we make sure those what has too much are convinced to pass some along to them with nothing.”
“And what do you do with the pool?” Sunny was genuinely curious, but for some reason, Qibli’s answers seemed to be fading in and out.
“We’re the boss of it,” he explained proudly. “That way we can get water to all the little dragons and the sick dragons and the wounded from the war. When they’re not too scared to come around and ask for it anyways. We can be very intimidating,” he added with a satisfied nod.
“Mm-hmm,” Sunny said, her eyelids drooping.
“Are you falling asleep in the middle of my fascinating explanation?” Qibli demanded, sounding outraged.
“No,” Sunny mumbled, inaccurately, and if he said anything else, she didn’t hear it.
*
She woke up in darkness to the sounds of dragons roaring and carousing outside the tent. A small oil lamp, gleaming bronze, was set beside her, and Six-Claws sat beside it, chewing on something that had been skewered on a stick and burned to a crisp.
He dipped his head to her as she sat up and yawned. “Your mother said not to wake you.”
The shiver that sent down Sunny’s spine was both lovely and unsettling. My mother.
“You could have. I always feel like I’m missing something when I’m sleeping,” Sunny said, stretching. “Where is she?”
“Still trying to put out all the fires and restore order.” He flipped one wing at the noises beyond the white, billowing walls. There was something solid about his presence, as though of course he would be there, waiting patiently, whenever she woke up and needed him. Sunny could imagine that her mother would be able to rely on him.
She wondered again if there was any chance he might be her father. Thorn had said “not around,” but maybe that just meant “not attached” anymore. Or maybe there was a reason she was keeping it a secret from the other Outclaws.
Most significantly, knowing he had hatched with his unusual sixth claws might be enough to make Thorn think Sunny would have something odd about her, too.
“What happened with the viper?” Sunny asked. “Is everyone all right?”
Six-Claws stopped chewing and looked at her. “We didn’t find the viper yet, but we’ve contained the fire, for the most part. And nobody was bitten, so far. So we’re either very lucky or quite unlucky, if there’s really a viper out there.” He considered her for a moment, then added, “Thanks for asking.”
“Oh,” Sunny said, flustered. She’d been worried; of course she’d asked. “Of course.”
Six-Claws tossed away his stick and rubbed sand over his talons. “Ready to be presented to the Outclaws?” he asked her.
“Not even remotely,” Sunny confessed. He chuckled in a rumbling way and lifted the flap so she could step through the tent and out onto the shifting sands, pale in the light of the three moons overhead.
The bright orange-and-yellow flames of torches flickered all around the oasis, reflecting in a dance across the pool. There were too many dragons for Sunny to count, especially in the wavering shadows, and most of them were moving — chasing one another across the sand, calling out insults or threats or jokes, laughing and tossing drinks at each other. As she blinked around, looking for Thorn, one of the SandWings toppled into the pool with a splash and three others jumped to haul her out.
“Idiots,” Six-Claws said with affection, and started forward.
“That’s far enough,” said a voice in the darkness behind the tent. “Six-Claws. Stop where you are.”
Six-Claws swung around with a hiss. “I take orders from Thorn and no one else.”
“Oh, it’s not an order,” said the other dragon. He stepped forward so the torchlight could catch on his yellow scales, and Sunny recognized the SandWing they’d run into on the streets earlier — Addax, the one with the scratch who’d looked familiar. “It’s a suggestion I think you’ll really want to listen to.”
Six-Claws took a menacing step toward him and Addax flicked his tail. Two more beefy dragons appeared behind him. They had a small dragonet pinned between them, perhaps two years old, with nearly white scales and a tail barb that still wasn’t fully developed. She squeaked nervously as they dragged her forward.
“The question really,” said Addax, “is which daughter do you care about more — the alleged long-lost egg that Thorn has been searching for … or yours?”