Dragon Mage Academy

by Cordelia Castel

  Protector of Dragons

  Dragon Mage Academy Book Four

  Cordelia Castel

  Copyright © 2019 by Cordelia Castel.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.CordeliaCastel.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Dragon Mage Academy

  Cordelia Castel’s Books

  Chapter 1

  If King Magnar was ever in mortal peril again, I would walk away and leave the wretch to his fate. He was a menace to Steppe, to dragon-kind, and now to me.

  I stood with my back to the remains of the smoldering hut and side-stepped a split in the parched ground. Fyrian flew toward us from the direction of the mountain, and I turned to watch her approach. It was all I could do to avoid his self-satisfied grin.

  By carrying me out of a burning building against my will, the wretched monarch had twisted magic into awarding him my hand in marriage.

  Even in the dim, overcast light, and even without looking at him, King Magnar’s triumph shone like a beacon. His turquoise eyes sparkled like shallow pools catching the sun, and his hair shone like spun gold.

  My bones shuddered, and my skin puckered into goosebumps. I blamed that on King Magnar, too, and not on the freezing mist seeping through my leather armor. Everything about the man was thoroughly irritating.

  “I must say,” he murmured. “Being abducted by alchemists had its benefits!”

  My hands itched to knock him unconscious and wipe out the last few hours of his memory. Then I could tell him that we had run out of the burning shack together, and he’d forget all about having activated the damsel denial.

  The magic encasing my heart squeezed, making me wince and clutch at my chest. Apparently, violent thoughts about King Magnar was in violation of its rules.

  Fyrian straightened her wings and swooped down. She landed in a cloud of dust on the dry earth on other side of the ward, which still glowed yellow from when it had sucked me through. No matter how many times I saw her, she still awed me with her appearance. Master Jesper’s alkahest elixir had restored her scales to their emerald-green splendor, and horns curved out of her leonine face like a halo of crowns.

  Niger climbed down Fyrian’s back, helping Evolene off. As soon as the pair caught sight of me with King Magnar at my side, they froze. I pressed my lips into a straight line. I had no doubt that they still thought he was the ally of the alchemists who had poisoned nearly every being in Mount Fornax and made the dragons loyal to King Magnar’s empire.

  “Princess Alba?” asked King Magnar.

  “What?” I replied through gritted teeth. The magic released its grip on my heart, the pain faded, and I exhaled my relief.

  “We should cement our union at the earliest opportunity. I was thinking Master Roopal might—”

  “I’m not marrying you,” I snapped.

  King Magnar lifted his chin, lips curving down as though my answer had somehow failed to impress him. “Magic dictates you will marry me unless I refuse your hand.”

  “What is this?” asked Niger from the other side of the barrier. The breeze blew his disheveled, auburn hair off his face, revealing a heavy scowl and black eyes burning like coals.

  Evolene stood at Niger’s side, clutching her staff to her chest. At the best of times, her head barely reached his shoulder. She appeared even smaller with her head dipped and her face covered in a curtain of chestnut hair. “Y-you’re getting married?”

  My insides writhed like a colony of sandworms, and my gaze dropped to the cracked earth. It was one thing for Evolene and Niger to know my real identity, but I’d die of shame if they found out I’d let King Magnar trap me into marriage. I glanced at Fyrian for ideas.

  She raised a wing, exposing its pink underside. “Isn’t it a good thing that Magnar wants to marry you?”

  I clenched my teeth. “No one’s getting—.”

  “Bluford and I were discussing my impending marriage to his cousin, Princess Alba of Steppe.” King Magnar, who was oblivious to my friends’ knowledge of my secret, pointed at Evolene’s staff. “Why haven’t you pulled the wards down yet?”

  “Ummm…” She chewed her lip, gaze darting from me to King Magnar.

  I held my breath. The last thing I needed was for her to blurt out that he was talking about the same person. King Magnar seemed the type to throw a tantrum if people worked out he was about to marry the person who had bested him in a duel.

  Niger pressed his palms against the ward and glowered.

  “He’s growling,” said Fyrian.

  “That’s because he knows my secret,” I replied.

  “How?”

  “Master Jesper accidentally removed the glamor covering my scent.”

  Fyrian tilted her head to the side. Realization flashed in her huge, crimson eyes. “And he was with you when you went to the palace to find the eggs. Your father put his arm around you, and everyone knows he doesn’t have a son.”

  “Not yet.” I tried not to picture four identical baby boys with uncontrolled magical power.

  Niger clenched his fists.

  Wiping my damp hands on the sides of my leather breeches, I scrambled about for a change of subject. Alone, I might be able to persuade King Magnar to waive the damsel denial. Maybe flatter him into thinking he deserved better than a bride who despised him to his rotten core. But if Niger got involved, King Mangar would dig his heels into the sand and insist we marry right away.

  “Where’s Master Jesper?” My magically deepened voice became shrill with nerves. “I thought you were bringing it.”

  Niger flicked his head toward the mountain. Clouds of dust billowed up from the drylands, dislodging the occasional roll of tumbleweed. In the distance, two giant glacier wolves galloped towards us, pulling a small wagon. A hooded figure sat in the driver’s seat.

  “Oh.”

  While Evolene tried to explain to King Magnar that she needed Master Jesper’s help to bring down the wards, Niger stepped forward. “I told you to stay away from the hut.”

  I pointed at the crevasse in the ground. “It was a trap.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “The alchemists wanted to capture someone with fairy blood to drain their power. That’s why the ward was solid to you and Evolene but pulled me through at the barest touch. When you lot left, they all but shoved me into the hut.”

  His brows drew together. “Are you hurt?”

  “Fyrian helped me fight my way out.”

  The corner of his lips lifted, and his eyes shone like obsidian. “You are both truly remarkable.”

  Warmth spread across my chest, filling my heart. No one, apart from maybe Fyrian, had ever complimented me on my power. It sure was a change from being the only witch in the Magical Militia who couldn’t power a staff. I dipped my head to hide a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Tell me,” he murmured. “Is King Magnar trying to force you into a marriage?”

  I glanced over at the man in question. He stood in front of the glowi
ng ward, deep in conversation with Evolene, who pointed toward Jesper’s wagon. No trace of arrogance or disdain crossed his features, but then, I supposed, like most in this part of the Known World, he respected witches. Now that Evolene’s magical status had been uncovered, she had changed her civilian clothes for the uniform of an apprentice witch.

  “Don’t say something horrible about Magnar,” said Fyrian.

  My lips tightened at Fyrian’s unreasonable loyalty. How did she expect me to explain the truth without portraying King Magnar’s scheming ways? I couldn’t. “You know the dungman who became King?”

  “The old folktale?” he asked.

  I hooked my thumb at the smoking remains of the hut. “That shack was on fire, and I was running out.” My gaze dropped to his shoulder. I couldn’t face his reaction. “Just before I reached the door, King Magnar grabbed me and carried me through.”

  “But you are no damsel.”

  I stuffed my hands into my pockets and hunched my shoulders. “The magic doesn’t seem to agree.”

  “At last!” snapped King Magnar.

  Master Jesper climbed down from its wagon, holding aloft an alchemist staff. This one was much like a witch’s staff, a wooden conduit topped with a crystal, except with bands of gold securing the two together. As beings created by the Snow Queen, trolls weren’t normally magically gifted. But some of the creatures devised ways of stealing the magic and life-force of a witch, rendering themselves powerful.

  Gulping, I shoved down my revulsion. Master Jesper was now a reformed troll, the first to betray his mistress and join Aunt Cendrilla’s cause. It had also helped us tremendously while the homunculi had seized control of Mount Fornax. If it hadn’t been for Master Jesper’s alchemy skills, we would have no hope of curing the so-called plague that had beset the dragon sanctuary.

  “How fascinating!” Master Jesper raised its staff and cast white light onto a patch of ward in front of Evolene and King Magnar. “It has a peculiar calibration—”

  “They wanted to trap me,” I blurted. The sooner we left this region and worked on the antidotes, the sooner the dragons, warriors, and witches would be free from the artificial clearscale and from the loyalty elixir keyed to King Magnar and his family. “Can you pull the ward down?”

  Jesper’s hood fell back, revealing heavy features set within thick, elephant hide. “No.”

  “What?”

  “It’s attached to the wards surrounding Mount Fornax, which you know have been bolstered by the Magical Militia’s quarantine wards.”

  I rubbed my temple. “Can you make a temporary hole?”

  “If my power were compatible with that of Mistress Evolene, we could pierce the ward, but individually we would fail.”

  I rolled my eyes up to the skies. Steel-colored clouds swirled overhead, spilling out droplets of freezing mist. The only source of warmth came from the smoldering hut, which now lay in a pile of charred planks. I wasn’t looking forward to huddling next to King Magnar to preserve body heat.

  “W-what if we made a tunnel?” asked Evolene.

  “It would have to be a deep one to go under the ward,” replied Master Jesper.

  Evolene shook her head. “I don’t think so. Th-the more complicated the ward and the fewer casters, the shallower its depth.”

  King Magnar rubbed his chin. “That makes sense!”

  “Do you know what they are talking about?” asked Niger.

  “A little.” I narrowed my eyes at the King who leaned on the glowing ward, keeping up with their conversation. Perhaps having a witch as a mother and six witches as sisters, he picked up a lot of magical theory. More than I had gained from my time at the Magical Militia. “Two alchemists with stolen power can’t produce a complicated ward that stretches both to the sky and underground.”

  “I see.” Niger glanced at King Magnar. “Will you duel him for your hand?”

  “Do you think he’d agree to a fight he has no chance of winning?”

  Niger grinned. “It is doubtful.” His smile faded, and a muscle flexed under his beard. He rubbed the back of his neck, brows knitted into an expression more serious than I had seen on the drogott captain. “Will you contact the Prince Regent?”

  I gulped. According to the palace butler, Father was at the Ogre Senate, dueling noblemen who wanted a full-blooded ogre to lead the country during Aunt Cendrilla’s absence. Hopefully, King Magnar wouldn’t try to push for marriage until after Father had won his duels. I shrugged. “Maybe later.”

  He stepped forward, pressing his palm on the ward. “But you must—”

  “Excellent work, Madam Evolene!” cried Master Jesper. The troll turned to us. “Come, Cadet Bluford. The passageway is nearly ready.”

  With a nod, I turned toward the others.

  “Bluford,” said Niger.

  “Don’t worry about me.” I may have sounded valiant, but my insides writhed with shame. Getting ensnared into marriage was the domain of long-skirted damsels who swooned at the first sign of trouble. “I’ll get him to release the denial.”

  I leaped over the crevasse toward where Evolene stood at the other side of the ward with Master Jesper. King Magnar stood beside one of the two shield-sized holes they had created in the ground. He held out his hand in the manner of a courtly gentleman. “May I?”

  “I can walk down a flight of steps without your help,” I snapped.

  He scowled. “I merely wished to be courteous in light of our new association.”

  Clenching my fists, I pinched my lips together to hold back a rant. I lowered myself down the hole’s steep staircase, ignoring the sand crumbling underfoot. The air warmed the deeper I descended, making my muscles relax. Eventually, the tunnel leveled out, and twenty feet ahead, a stream of light illuminated my path.

  “You can’t keep sulking forever.” King Magnar’s voice echoed behind me. “At some point, you will accept your good fortune and—”

  “What in the Known World is wrong with you?” I whirled around, nails digging into my palms. “There’s nothing fortunate about this predicament!”

  His eyes widened. He even had the nerve to spread his fingers against his breastbone as though he’d received the biggest insult in his royal life. “Fine words coming from the most ungrateful Princess I’ve ever known. I saved your life!”

  “It doesn’t count if I stayed behind in a burning building to save you. And nor does it count if I was already halfway out of the door!”

  “You exaggerate.”

  I shoved him hard on the chest, knocking him into the wall. A stream of sand fell onto his stubborn, blond head. Ignoring a punishing jolt of pain, the damsel denial sent through my heart, I snarled, “Release me from this curse, or I will—”

  “You’ll what?” His lip curled. “Kill me? Have me assassinated? The magic will stop you from circumventing your obligation.”

  Frustration rumbled through my chest in a snarl. He was right. According to the story of the dungman who became King, the Princess’s father tried a number of schemes to save his daughter from marrying the dungman. Each had backfired on the Princess, and eventually, he gave up and allowed the marriage. I turned from King Magnar and continued along the darkened walkway.

  As I ascended at the other side, the late afternoon sunlight warmed my skin, a welcome change from the cold atmosphere within the ward. I stepped out and blinked at the glare of the sun.

  Evolene rushed into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I was so worried you would go into the hut!”

  “It wasn’t exactly my choice.” I patted her on the shoulder.

  She drew back, looking up at me with watery eyes. “Did you fight more homunculi?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “A few, but they were nothing compared to their mast—”

  WHACK!

  We whirled around. Niger stood over King Magnar’s prone form, teeth bared, fists balled. A heartbeat later, pain radiated through my skull with the force of a cannonball. My stomach dropped, eyes squeezed s
hut, and I doubled over, clasping my hands over my nose. “Argh!”

  With an ear-splitting roar, Fyrian blew a plume of hot flames over our heads. “Leave Magnar alone!”

  Evolene caught my arm before I fell to the ground. “What’s wrong?”

  “Bluford!” shouted Niger.

  Somewhere in the distance, Master Jesper shouted at everybody to calm down and discuss their grievances like adults. It might have been my imagination, or a hallucination brought on by the unbearable throbbing in what felt like a shattered face.

  I forced my eyes open and squinted at the blinding sunlight. Spreading my fingers apart, I peered down to inspect the damage. The only moisture on my palm were tears. “I-I don’t know what just happened, but it hurts.”

  Niger dragged King Magnar up by the collar. “What did you do to Bluford?”

  King Magnar’s eyes rolled, and he gurgled something insensible. It was likely a demand to let go of his royal person.

  Niger clamped his hand around the other male’s neck and shook. “Answer me!”

  An intense pressure built around my neck, cutting off my air and choking my scream.

  White magic flashed from Evolene’s staff, filling my vision, and the pain faded into an echo. As I stumbled forward, gasping for air, she cried, “N-Niger, s-stop it. Whatever you do to King Magnar hurts Bluford!”

  Chapter 2

  I was still staggering about when a body fell to the ground with a thud. A dull ache reverberated up my palms and through my knees. I winced. If King Magnar and I now shared a bond like Fyrian and me, I would throw myself off one of the cliffs.

  “I’d catch you,” said Fyrian.

  Her words of reassurance didn’t give me the usual, warm glow. Instead, I pictured myself married to a man I despised, who occasionally turned into a giant brute with sharpened teeth. “Ugh!”