Part VII: Change

The winds were still wild, and clouds soon blew over the moons, shrouding the night in deeper darkness. That made Winter's flight back to the palace even harder, and made what he saw there even more confusing and incredible.

It was a battlezone. IceWing against IceWing. Frost against frost.

The whole horrible, perfect, pristine palace was now writhing with chaos. White wings flashed in the faint light of the Moon Globes as fighting spilled out into the courtyards, scarring the snow with sharp ice. IceWings flew through the air high above the towers, blasting each other with shimmering frostbreath and chasing their own fellow tribesdragons through the crowded sky.

This is the distraction?! Thought Winter. His mind reeled. What...? How...? Boreal had said her friends would help them. Hailstorm had said there were nobles on their side. But this... this was unbelievable.

Hoping that the darkness was making it look all worse than it really was, Winter swooped down, grabbed an abandoned Moon Globe, and began to search for his brother. He stuck to the servants' corridors, avoiding the main halls and courtyards where most of the noise was coming from. The few dragons who rushed past him, most carrying makeshift weapons and shields, either thought he was on their side or were too busy with their own problems to deal with him.

After a few nerve-wracking minutes, he finally spotted Hailstorm pressed against the wall of a long hallway. The passage already bore the marks of battle: blasts of frostbreath and chilling splashes of blue. The fighting seemed to have moved into the open air of the next courtyard, where IceWings of all ranks and brawling. Winter spotted one of the highest-ranked generals shooting ice at a First Circle princess, but before he could see what happened next, Hailstorm had seen him gestured for them both to leave.

"What in the great glaciers is going on?" Winter hissed as Hailstorm unfurled his wings and hustled them both down safer corridor.

"It's out of control," Hailstorm growled. "We only wanted a small upset. A tussle with the guards. But Boreal's pack of rebels used it as some kind of attack." He breathed a big puff of frustrated frost. "This is bigger than we thought, Winter. They've turned it into a siege."

Winter stepped back, shocked. "What?!"

"Boreal led them into the royal courtyards," Hailstorm went on. "Everyone is going wild in there, destroying everything. I just left you find you. I think they're headed toward the inner palace."

"So it's a revolt?!" Winter exclaimed, still trying to process the fact that sweet, mild-mannered Boreal was leading a rebel siege.

A revolt in the palace? Winter would never, not in a million years, have guessed IceWings to even be capable of that. Certainly not here, in the palace! They were orderly creatures. Frozen in place. And yet... here it was. Right in front of him. The bloody proof. Our real history.

"Not just a revolt," Hailstorm said darkly. "A revolution."

Shouts, roars, and blasts of ice sounded from the next courtyard, and Winter was too morbidly curious not to look. Grumbling curses, Hailstorm followed.

The few guards still there had already been neutralized, backed into a corner by a few rebel IceWings. Winter recognized Hellebore, the old head guard, as one of the rebels, and felt a thrill of hope in his chest. She really was on their side! Clearly reluctant to fight against their old leader, the battered group of guards held their wings high in surrender.

Meanwhile, the rest of the courtyard was being pulverized. Dragons slashed banners with their claws, blasted statues of Snowfall with frostbreath, and slammed their spiked tails into the delicate walls of the palace itself. It was magnificent. Winter couldn't help smiling. All the years he had spent trapped in this place, all the suffering that its icy splendor had come to represent, was being dismantled before his eyes. He had never felt so relieved in his life. And, three moons, did he want to join in!

No time for that, he reminded himself. Escape first, get poetic catharsis later. Winter breathed out a sharp breath of frost and refocused. Where has Boreal gone now?

The worst of the fighting seemed to be coming from the innermost parts of the palace, where dragons from every Circle were flying in to help both sides. Had the rebels really broken into the royal chambers?

No, Winter thought, frowning. To many guards and magical defenses. Instant death. But an insider like Boreal would know that was suicide. What if...

"They're trashing the palace," he said. The ingenuity of it dawned on him, and he grinned.

"Yeah, I saw that," Hailstorm replied with a huff. "There goes my favorite pavilion."

"No, that's their whole plan," Winter said, recalling what he had seen from up above. "The guards have all retreated to the royal chambers to protect Snowfall, so now Boreal and the rebels are attacking the rest of the palace. No one can stop them if Snowfall took all the defenses for herself."

"Cowardly," growled Hailstorm, "but smart." Then he lashed his tail and fluttered his wings impatiently. "Now come on, we have to go!"

"Not yet," Winter insisted. "We need to find Lynx."

Before Hailstorm could protest, Winter had already plunged into the chaos, racing down a corridor toward the center of the palace. Other IceWings rushed past them, finally paying the infamous brothers no heed. Apparently it took a full-on revolution for IceWings to stop being nosy and rude.

Just as Winter had suspected, there were practically no guards left in any of the inner courtyards or towers. Snowfall must have ordered them all to protect her own rooms, leaving practically every other part of the palace free for the rebels to destroy. And they did not disappoint.

All around Winter, dragons were blasting frost, shattering ice, and smearing paint. Statues toppled with satisfying, bone-shaking cracks. Frostbreath slammed into delicate ice formations, marking everything with shimmering scars. Blue paint dripped from the walls, spelling out slogans and menacingly marking everything with the color of IceWing blood.

Across the side of one tall tower, someone had scrawled: THERE ARE NO CIRCLES!

Another wall read, simply: CHANGE

As he passed by Frostbite's gift, the Tree of Light, Winter couldn't help stopping and staring. "Three moons," he muttered. Not just a revolt. A revolution.

Jagged ice formations now encrusted the base of the ancient, sacred tree, rising like strange, savage works of art from the once-peaceful snow. The rebels had blasted most of the courtyard with frost, but had thankfully left most of the tree itself untouched. A crude banner had been hung on its highest branches: the rebel flag. This one's colors were the inverse of the royal banner, blue on white instead of white on blue. And when Winter saw the symbol that had been painted onto that fluttering white flag, he felt his cold blood freeze in his veins.

It was the eight-petaled flower. The winter rose.

A strange, excited hum worked its way through his scales, shaking him to the bone, filling him with fear and wonder. Boreal's words echoed in his head, We'll have all of Pyrrhia watching. History was happening here. The kingdom was changing. The world was changing.

"This isn't going to last," Hailstorm growled to his brother, poking him with his sharp tail. "This is our distraction, Winter. Let's go!"

Winter shook his head and hissed, "No, not without Lynx." Then he took a deep, cold breath, calmed himself, and asked, "Where did you last see her?"

Hailstorm sighed. Then, perhaps realizing how determined Winter really was, said, "She flew out to the main guard tower, to direct the guards from there."

The guard tower. Of course! Winter nodded and prepared to fly, but Hailstorm turned away.

"I'll meet you two there," Hailstorm declared. "There's someone I have to warn, too."

There was no time for Winter to pry about that. He nodded, wished his brother luck, and took to the dark and turbulent sky.

Winter quickly found the guard tower; he had spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at it and wondering what his friends were saying in there, after all. His heart squeezed when he noticed a faint light glowing in its blue windows. Lynx! He folded his wings and dove down to the tower, unlocking the door with Taiga's key, flinging it open with a relieved call of "Lynx!"

A single Moon Globe lit the room, scattering its sparse light over the maps and tools of the palace guards. Most of the armor and weapons were gone, leaving ominous metal holders behind, and all of the benches where guards usually waited were empty, except for one. There was Lynx, curled up by the window as if waiting for him.

She jumped up, startled. Then her face broke into a big, bright grin. "Winter!" she exclaimed joyfully, and suddenly he knew everything would be all right.

"We did it, Lynx," he said, urging her toward the door with his wings. "Icicle's free. Hailstorm's on his way. We can go now!"

Lynx's grin faltered. She stepped back. A strange mix of courage and sadness flicked across her freckled face. An avalanche of dread filled Winter's heart.

"No," she said. "You two have to go, but I'll stay." She smiled bravely, but fear flashed in her eyes. "I can help you from the inside. I'll organize a resistance in the palace. We can change this kingdom together. Trust me, Winter."

He did.

Lynx went on, "Please..."

"I know," Winter cut in. "It's okay. I understand."

Some part of him had already known that Lynx would never leave her tribe, not while it still needed her. She would do whatever it took to fix the Ice Kingdom, even if it meant risking her life by staying for the revolution. Winter's heart shattered at the thought of leaving her, cracking him to pieces like one of those ruined statues. But he would swallow his sorrow, and respect her choice, because he knew she would have done the same for him. Lynx was loyal and brave to the core. She knew what she was doing.

That was why he loved her.

"I already had a friend hide the key to this tower," she told him. "Lock the door again with Taiga's key, then take that with you." She pointed to the key, which was still in Winter's talons, then pressed her own talons against his for emphasis. "The guards will get me out later," she assured him. "I'll tell them that the rebels trapped me here. That'll get Snowfall off my tail. I need an excuse for not to joining the guards earlier. She won't trust me unless I have an alibi."

Winter nodded. "Okay."

Lynx squeezed Winter's talons in hers, her eyes shining with hope and hurt and all the things that they didn't have enough time to say. Then she let him go, and he did his best to hide all the horrible fears that were already tearing through his thoughts.

"Lynx..." He tried to smile. He couldn't. "Just don't die."

She grinned back sadly. "I'll try."

I'll come back, he wanted to say. I'll come back for you. We'll do this together. But how could he promise that? Who knew if he would ever return? If he would even be able to get out of here in the first place?

Unable to hurt her with a false promise, Winter said nothing more. He glanced at her one last time, just long enough to see the grin fall from her face, then locked the door and froze off his feelings and forced himself to fly away.

Hailstorm was already hiding at the base of the tower, and flew up to join his brother when Winter rushed out. "No Lynx?" he asked as they flew.

"She's staying," said Winter, his voice dull with grief.

Hailstorm nodded. Either he understood, or he just wanted to get out of there. Regardless, Winter was glad that he didn't have to explain.

"Who were you looking for?" Winter asked as they headed around the chaos of the inner palace, flying low to avoid the guards and rebels who were still fighting overhead.

"Mother," said Hailstorm. "I found her. She said she'd flee, but not to Sanctuary. She's going to hide out by herself, I guess."

"Oh." Winter's first reaction was relief. Relief that he wouldn't have to face her, that he wouldn't have to deal with both Icicle and Tundra at the same time. Then he felt horribly guilty for feeling relieved. Alas, now wasn't exactly the best time for wallowing in his own guilt, so he had to put that aside.

There was one more thing he had to attend to before they finally flew out of this wretched place. It was clutched tight in his talons, which still tingled from Lynx's touch.

Taiga's key would be no use to him outside of the palace, which he did not intend to return to anytime soon. Luckily, he soon spotted someone who could definitely use it. Someone who would free those innocent prisoners, and open up the doors to their tribe's secret history.

Boreal. There she was, leading the charge of her ragtag rebel troop. As Winter had suspected, they weren't really trying to break into the royal chambers, just destroying the courtyards that surrounded those rooms. Many of the statues and towers in this area were protected by animus magic, leaving them hauntingly untouched as the rest of their surroundings were torn apart. Boreal perched atop one such statue, hastily tying a banner to its wings as she shouted encouragement to the busy vandals below.

"Boreal!" Winter cried, swooping down low. "Take this!" Before he could change his mind, he tossed her the key.

She nimbly caught it in her talons, and, realizing what it was, what power it gave her, looked up at him in shock. "Winter -"

"You know what to do with it, who to free," he said, circling back around her. "Just go, and... and do the right thing."

Something strange and frightening seemed to flit across the servant dragon's face: a look of quiet triumph. Then she smiled her sweet smile again, looking shy and friendly as ever, as if he had imagined it all. But he had not. This time he was sure. "I will," she said, and then she was gone, thrown back into the chaos of her own making.

Winter realized he may have made a terrible mistake.

But there was no time to dwell on that, or to figure out any of the other thousands of questions that swirled in his heart. Winter and Hailstorm had already long since overstayed their welcome. It was time to go.

As Winter flew up to Hailstorm, both brothers nodded in silent agreement. Then like two dragons possessed, they hurtled past the palace's broken gates, up over the shadows of chaos outside, over the broken sounds of revolution, and out into the open darkness of sky. Winter took the lead, for he knew the way back to Sanctuary by heart, and despite the harsh bite of the wind, his wings carried him up as if he were weightless.

His heart, too, was beginning to feel lighter, for even with all the fear and uncertainty that lingered within him, he knew that he was headed toward somewhere friendly and free. Somewhere better, he decided. Where things are going to change.

Winter flew and flew and flew. Faster and farther than he had ever flown before. He flew until his wings screamed with pain, until every scale on his body ached, until his limbs wanted to freeze off to escape the ruthless wind. And then, he flew on some more.

It helped to have Hailstorm beside him. Winter had discovered how much it helped to have someone he could talk to, someone he could trust. He was done trying to weather all his storms alone. He had friends and family to fly with now.

So as they flew, they talked. About hunting strategies, about the weather, about Winter's scavenger projects. Anything to get their mind off the fact that they could get captured and killed at any moment.

"You should see the new enclosure I designed," Winter said, "It'll be like a little scavenger town. I've already got a few going in Sanctuary."

Hailstorm was quiet for a while, and they both stared down at the bleak, white landscape below them. As the night deepened, shadows crept across the seemingly endless snow and stars twinkled above them. The light of the moons made both IceWing brothers gleam stark white, like ghosts of themselves.

"Do you think we'll be safe there?" Hailstorm finally asked. "In Sanctuary."

"It's neutral ground," replied Winter.

Hailstorm snorted. "Why would Snowfall respect that?"

"Good point." Winter sighed. "But my friends are there. They'll help us. We'll figure something out."

"Yeah." Hailstorm nodded, then fell silent again, and Winter, who didn't believe his own words, could hardly blame his brother for not believing them either.

Winter thought back to when he had released Icicle, finally allowing himself to process it all. How strange to think that had happened mere hours before. It felt like a whole lifetime had passed since he watched his sister disappear amidst the distant stars. He wondered if he would meet her when they landed in Sanctuary. He wondered what he would say if they did.

Turning back to Hailstorm, who was starting to slow down, Winter asked, "Do you remember an old story about... about IceWings being reborn from the ice?"

Hailstorm snorted. "Oh, that old snake's tale? That's just a peasant thing."

That revolution started as a peasant thing, Winter was tempted to point out. Instead, he asked, "But do you remember how it goes?"

"Hmm." Hailstorm thought for a moment, spinning in the air as he flew. "In the days of the spirits, before the kingdom was a kingdom, dragons would sleep in the great glaciers. Frozen, I guess. And after centuries, they hatched out again and lived new lives. But they always had to give something up, to die in the ice. A piece of their soul, or their frostbreath, or something like that."

Winter frowned. "That's it?"

What a gloomy story. Maybe that was why Icicle liked it. She had always loved creeping him out as a dragonet.

"I told you," said Hailstorm, "it's just a stupid peasant story!" He paused, frowning. "Why did you ask?"

"I don't know." Winter sighed. Then, gazing up at the stars, he tried to hope. Tried to smile. "I sure could go for a few centuries of sleep now," he muttered.

Hailstorm laughed. "You and me both."

On and on they flew. Toward safety, toward freedom. Toward danger, toward change. Toward whatever would happen next. Together, they soared on.