She knew it had worked when she heard Rapskal catch his breath. ‘Oh, they’re lovely. Can I touch them?’

‘Rapskal, I don’t think’ she began, but he wasn’t listening.

‘They’re like Heeby’s wings were at first. The skin is as fine as parchment, and the light shines right through the colours. I’m going to hold them open all the way so I can see them.’ He crawled around behind her, and she felt him take the outermost tip of each wing in each of his hands. Then, as carefully as if she were a butterfly, he opened her wings fully to the light. She could feel the difference, could feel the light and then the warmth of the sun touch them. Warmth spread through them as if it were water flowing.

‘The colours just got brighter,’ Tats said quietly.

‘You should do this every day,’ Rapskal said decisively. ‘And you should practise moving them, too, to make them stronger and help them grow. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to fly.’

‘Oh, she won’t be able to fly with them,’ Tats told him quickly, as if fearing that Rapskal had hurt her feelings. ‘I heard Sintara tell her that. The dragon said she should just be grateful to have such beautiful wings. She won’t be able to fly with them.’

Rapskal laughed merrily. ‘Oh, and that’s what everyone said to me about Heeby, too. Don’t be silly. Of course she’ll be able to fly. She just has to try every day.’ He leaned forward and spoke by her ear. ‘Don’t worry, Thymara. I’ll help you practise every day, just like I did with Heeby. You’ll fly.’

Sintara had moved far up the hillside. From her vantage, she could look out over the wide, sloping meadow before her. Kelsingra. They had returned. The tall spire of the map-tower and the gleaming stone roofs of the city beckoned to her from the other side of the deep, swift river.

Earlier today, she had watched Heeby hunting. She’d seen the red dragon open her wings and spring almost effortlessly into the air. Her wings had beat hard for a moment, and then she’d caught the motion of the air over the river and lifted. In a few moments she had dwindled to the size of a crow, and then to a hunting hawk. Heeby had circled high over the city, and Sintara had watched her and remembered in agony exactly how it felt, how you cupped your wings just so to capture a rising wall of warmer air, and how you spilled wind from your wings to go sliding down the sky.

She remembered. She knew. She was a dragon, a ruler of the Three Realms, a queen of earth and sky and water. Kelsingra with its wells of sweet silver was just across the river. A real dragon would simply open her wings and fly there.

She had opened her wings and felt the sun on them, felt them warming in the kiss of light. She moved them slightly, and felt the wind they made. She recalled how Thymara had mocked and defied her, calling her lazy, even stupid. She recalled all of Heeby’s foolish early efforts at flight. How ungainly she had looked, how clumsy as over and over again she had tried to fly, and failed. She’d had no pride, no dignity at all.

She heard a distant cry, the shrill whistle of a hunting dragon. Her keen eyes picked out Heeby as she suddenly folded her wings and stooped on something. Something large, Sintara was suddenly certain. Something large and meaty, something hot with blood.

She shook out her wings to the summer sunlight. The hill-side was wide and green before her. And across the river was Kelsingra, city of Elderlings and dragons.

She ran half a dozen steps before she had the courage to beat her wings. Her feet left the ground briefly, and then she crashed down again. But she didn’t fall. Her wings were open and wide and they caught her and cushioned her fall.

‘Sintara!’ she heard someone shout in awe. ‘Look at Sintara!’

Another dozen running steps and this time she beat her wings more slowly and powerfully.

And when she leapt, she left the ground behind.