“Queen Glory!” shouted another dragon, and then another and another.
Starflight hoped that Glory could hear them. This had to be the strangest thing that had ever happened to her: the tribe that was always supposed to be so superior, now bowing down to the most “useless” of the dragonets.
He darted ahead of them to the ledge and found that the RainWings were gone. In their place were Clay, Tsunami, and Sunny, and he felt himself breathe a little deeper when he saw them.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Tsunami said to Starflight as he landed beside her. “This is a terrible plan. NightWings can’t be trusted.”
“I think it’s brilliant,” Sunny said warmly. “I think you’re brilliant. I think it’s the best idea in the world.”
Starflight hadn’t even thought about what Sunny would think of his idea — for once. He gave her a shy smile, pleased that he had accidentally done something she was so excited about.
“We’d better hurry,” Clay said, glancing up at the mountain, which was spitting bright orange sparks into the sky. “Come on, quickly,” he called to the approaching NightWings, holding out his talons.
Mightyclaws was the first to land on the ledge. “Queen Glory!” he cried, charging past them down the tunnel. Starflight followed far enough to see the dragonet leap into the hole and disappear.
Greatness was next, moving just as fast. She paused briefly beside Starflight, her wings filling the tunnel, her eyes darting anxiously back toward the smoldering volcano. “I’m so glad I won’t ever have to be queen,” she whispered to him, then hurried off.
Escaping ahead of the rest of her tribe, Starflight thought, instead of waiting to make sure everyone else gets away safely. The NightWings should all be glad she won’t ever be their queen.
He stepped back as a flood of NightWings started coming through.
“To our new queen!” he heard a few of them cry.
“Queen Glory!”
“This is so wrong,” somebody muttered.
“Think of all the food!” said someone else.
“And the smell of the rainforest — have you been there?” said another. “It’s amazing, like the air itself is full of water and light.”
“You’ll finally get to try a coconut,” one dragon said to another as they went by.
“Real trees,” a few of the dragonets were whispering to each other. “Real sunshine! Mangoes everyday!”
Starflight pushed back through the tide of black dragons until he reached his friends on the outer ledge. The sky was full of boiling dark clouds, and gray ash was raining down like snow. A new rivulet of lava had snaked out of the top of the volcano and was bubbling down one side. The earthquakes were coming in waves now and getting stronger, like a giant dragon stamping its way toward them across the ocean.
“We’re making all of them say ‘Queen Glory’ on their way past,” Tsunami said to Starflight, grabbing one NightWing’s tail. “Hey, you, speak up.”
“Queen Glory,” he grumbled, and Starflight recognized Strongwings, his father’s burly lab assistant.
“Once more, like you mean it,” Tsunami prodded. “Or you can discuss it with the volcano up there.”
The volcano obligingly growled.
“Queen Glory!” Strongwings blurted loudly.
“Better,” Tsunami said, letting him go.
Starflight was startled to see one brown dragon approaching in the middle of all the black, and for a moment he thought it was Clay — but Clay was right next to him. Then, with a huge stab of guilt, he remembered Ochre, who had gone off to hunt earlier that morning, which felt like weeks and weeks ago. I might have left him here. I didn’t even think to look for him.
“Uh, hey,” Ochre said, flapping onto the ledge and bobbing his head at Starflight. “So — I’m not sure what’s happening, but — it seems like everyone’s leaving? In kind of a hurry? And someone said something about bananas this way?”
“Just follow the others into the tunnel,” Starflight said. “We’ll explain everything later.”
“Sure, all right,” Ochre said. In a moment, he’d disappeared in the direction of the rainforest as well.
“Starflight, this dragon wanted to talk to you,” Clay said, tugging Starflight aside.
“Oh,” Starflight said, meeting his father’s eyes. “Clay, this is Mastermind. My — my father.”
The thin black dragon still had several scrolls clutched to his chest, and he was fidgeting with his claws anxiously. He tried to reach for Starflight’s talons, dropped a few scrolls, gathered them up again, and blurted, “It’s occurred to me, at this rather inopportune juncture, that our new hosts may very well, er — hate me. What do you think? Should I be concerned? Will they really let me live there? After everything? I’m afraid they might … have some grievances.”