The alpha nodded and lowered himself onto his belly.
Stafford rubbed his palms on the sides of his breeches and gave the wolf a curt bow. “Right, then, I’ll go first. Excuse me.” He grabbed a handful of fur and hoisted himself onto the wolf’s back. After settling himself, he offered his hand. “Come on, then.”
The flying cat leaped off my shoulder and circled above.
I clasped Stafford’s hand, and he pulled me up to sit in front. Just then, an idea dropped into my head. One that would help me avoid a dangerous journey to the capital.
I tilted my head up to the flying cat. “You were a messenger dragonet before your accident, weren’t you?”
“Meow!” Its fur puffed out, making its ends shine bright magenta in the sunlight.
“You’ve offended it,” Fyrian snapped. “Can’t you remember it got cursed trying to deliver a letter?”
I raised my hand. “Sorry. Of course, you’re still a messenger dragonet. I just wanted to know if you were on duty.”
“I already asked, and it says it will go to the palace for you,” said Fyrian.
“Brilliant! I’ll escort it to the wards.”
I directed the alpha around the mountain to the Dead Wood. He raced under its canopy, sending up clouds of dried leaf litter with each movement of his mighty paws. Instead of entering the secret passageway via the thick tree trunk and squeezing himself down the stairs, the alpha leaped over a broken tree.
For a moment, it seemed like we were suspended in mid-air.
My breath caught. Stafford and I held onto each other and his fur. After several heartbeats, everything went dark and the alpha landed on what felt like a downward slope.
“What’s this?” asked Stafford.
I pushed a flame through my index finger. “Another secret entrance, I think.”
“I’ll fly around the grounds for a bit,” said Fyrian. “Call when you’re ready.”
“All right.”
The same cool, damp scent surrounded us from the time I had explored the underground tunnel with Niger, except wind blew through my hair from the speed of the alpha’s galloping. Claws and a warm body landed on my shoulder, and I gave the cat a pat on the back.
On wolf back, the journey to the end of the wards took much longer than anticipated. Occasionally, the cat would fly ahead and illuminate the passageway with a plume of flames. About half an hour later and several feet up ahead, light streamed into the tunnel and the slope turned upwards.
The wolf stopped just before the light, and the flying cat landed on my shoulder. I tucked the scrolls into its little harness. “Go to the palace first. The butler will take the letter addressed to him. Then take the other letter to the lighthouse keeper.”
With a happy purr, the cat flew out through the exit.
“Fyri, can you see the cat?” I asked.
“Beyond the wards, yes.”
“Thanks.” I blew out a breath of relief. “For a moment, I thought the Magical Militia’s quarantine wards would block it. They must have just placed them over the Mount Fornax wards.”
I turned to Stafford. “The cat made it.”
“Brilliant!” His relieved chuckle made me smile. “Let’s get something to eat.”
We went straight to the mess hall for an early dinner. The place was jammed with warriors crowding around the new head table, where King Magnar sat with the dragon masters. The scent of roasted meat filled the air, making my stomach growl.
Before I could glimpse at what the chefs were cooking on the spit, Stafford elbowed me in the ribs. “Niger and Evolene are over there.”
I turned to find Evolene at our corner table. Although Niger sat a respectable four seats away, they were deep in conversation. “Let’s see what they’ve found out.”
As we approached them a voice on the left said, “Mutton and ale stew?” Eyepatch stood behind his usual table, holding aloft a ladle. He lowered his voice. “And can anybody tell me why everyone’s fawning over the one who stole the dragon eggs?”
I sucked in a breath. Eyepatch hadn’t succumbed to the plague, so he wasn’t under the influence of any loyalty elixirs! “If you can get yourself to the laboratory in the basement of the Healer’s Academy, we can give you answers.”
His eyes widened. “A-all right. How about some mutton and ale stew, then?”
“Yes, please.” I picked up a bowl.
“I’ll have some as well, please,” whispered Stafford.
Eyepatch dished out two generous servings and sent us on our way. We joined Niger and Evolene, who chatted about what they referred to as the eleven ingredients plus the missing twelfth. Stafford and I exchanged a knowing look. Mr. Bacon had mentioned that number of ingredients for the antidote to the loyalty elixir.
Evolene shrugged. “M-master Jesper says it would take an entire mountain of King Midas pear trees to produce enough distilled gold.”
A hot glare landed on my back. I turned around to meet King Magnar’s malevolent stare. It was made even worse by the new crown Master Fosco had placed on his head. The wretched thing glinted in the gaslights, mingling prettily with his short, gold hair.
My eyes widened. Gold! Then my lips curved into a smile. “Everyone, stop for a minute… I think I know where we’re going to get that ingredient.”
With so many warriors in the mess hall gazing at their elixir-induced hero and with King Magnar casting me vicious glances throughout the meal, I didn’t dare tell anyone of my plan to steal his new crown and use the gold for the loyalty elixir’s antidote. Not in a room full of half-ogres who could hear a whispered conversation over the raucous cheering.
“Where?” asked Stafford.
King Magnar leaned to Master Fosco and said something that caused the dragon master to narrow his eyes at me.
“Let’s meet somewhere out of the way for lunch tomorrow.” I wolfed down my mutton stew and left before King Magnar decided to summon me to his table.
The next morning’s first lesson was History of Dragons. Without the apprentice witches to raise the tone, the lecture theater was as unruly as the mess hall. The rider cadets sitting behind us shouted at the healer cadets in front, who threw balled parchment at the tamer cadets. I rested my head on my hand, tuned everyone out, and stared into the cave beyond the room’s transparent wall.
Around the ultramarine pool, purple and blue dragonets slumbered on rocks, their little bodies curled into balls. Morning sunlight reflected off the surface of the water, casting shimmering reflections on their scales.
The slamming of a door broke me out of my haze, and I raised my head to watch Master Roopal walk down the steps. Even though he was thin and wore simple, home-spun attire, he commanded the silence and attention of every single cadet. Perhaps everyone except me had already known that the masters were dragons underneath their human appearances.
Master Roopal stopped in front of a blackboard. “It is not every day that I deviate from the curriculum, but we are currently living through the most significant era within the history of dragonkind.”
Excited chatter broke out across the room. On my left, Stafford groaned, but Rufus, who sat on my right, straightened. I clenched my teeth. He was probably about to explain the politics of Mount Fornax breaking away from Steppe and becoming a territory of the Savannah Empire.
The dragon master raised a palm, silencing the room. “Yes, I am talking about our beloved leader, King Magnar.”
What followed was a version of recent events so deluded, I wanted to spit. According to Master Roopal’s elixir-addled mind, King Magnar foiled the spriggans’ plot to steal the dragon eggs by hiding them away and luring them into a trap to get roasted by a sleeping dragon.
“I was at that fight!” cried Fyrian. “We just got in the way, didn’t we?”
Clenching my teeth, I squeezed my eyes shut. Hearing Master Roopal’s lecture was bad enough, but Fyrian’s reactions just made me want to squeeze King Magnar’s neck until his eyes popped out of his head. Something shar
p and magical lanced me through the heart, and I doubled over.
“Wretched damsel denial!” I snarled into our bond.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
With tears in his eyes, Master Roopal explained that the spriggans had captured and tortured King Magnar for having defied them. Then he described his daring escape on the back of a camelops where he arrived in Mount Fornax half-dead but alive enough to impart the spriggans’ plans to resurrect their master.
When he reached the part about the alchemists, I closed my bond and stopped listening. There was only so much a person could stand, and I had reached my limit. I turned to Stafford, whose eyes glazed. Apparently, he was also trying to tune the lecture out.
“Those of you who are competing to become His Majesty’s Sky Commander raise your hands. You are exempt from the assignment.”
My hand shot up, as did Stafford’s.
Master Roopal gave us an understanding nod. “Very well. The rest of you, please complete an essay titled, ‘How King Magnar liberated—”
“Sir!” A man dressed in the same kind of linen tunic as Master Roopal jogged down the stairs, holding a scroll. “I have a message most urgent.”
“I suppose these males are replacing messenger dragonets. What does that uniform mean?”
“That’s one of the civilians who work here,” Fyrian answered.
The man handed over the scroll, which unrolled itself the minute it touched Master Roopal’s hand.
“I see…” He glanced up. “Cadet Bluford, you are wanted in Master Fosco’s office.”
My brows rose. “What for?”
“Hurry along, and you will find out.”
My stomach formed a hard knot, making me wince. Had King Magnar found someone to make the wedding dress, dragon flower bouquet, and lightning sword already?
Master Roopal pursed his lips. “You are holding up the rest of the lecture.”
“Y-you’re staying?”
“Of course, child.” He waved his right hand. “Off you go.”
The knot in my stomach unfurled, and I exhaled a relieved breath. If Master Roopal was continuing the class, it meant I wasn’t about to be ambushed into a marriage. After gathering my writing things, I followed the messenger out of the door and walked through the hallways toward the reception area.
A couple of passing warriors glanced my way but didn’t comment. They probably remembered me from my duel with King Magnar.
Father’s muffled shouts carried down the hallway. My heart leaped. If he was well enough to shout, he hadn’t been critically injured during his duels. And if he was communicating through the palace’s mirror, he had won enough duels to retain his position as the Prince Regent. I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but the fury in his voice wasn’t a good sign.
In the past few days, someone had cleared all signs of the explosion, fixing the broken skylights and charred walls and floors. Behind the long reception desk sat a ginger-bearded human with prominent eyes, clad in a homespun tunic. Evolene’s replacement, I supposed.
He gave me a nod of acknowledgment. “They are expecting you inside, Cadet.”
“Yes…” I swallowed hard, staring at Master Fosco’s door. It was probably my imagination, but the wood seemed to tremble with the force of Father’s ranting. “Thanks.”
I knocked and pushed the door open. King Magnar sat behind Master Fosco’s desk with his nose in the air, reading a parchment. His turquoise eyes flickered to me. “Here’s the subject of our discussion. Step inside, Cadet.”
With one last glance at the eavesdropping receptionist, I stepped inside and let the door close behind me. Father stood close to the golden communication mirror. Apart from his blue beard being cropped close to his chin, he appeared the same as usual. Bandages peeped out from the collar of his blue, ceremonial jacket, and my heart sank.
“You can and you will,” Father snarled.
“Must I repeat myself, Prince Regent?” drawled King Magnar. “You offered the girl to me with a more than generous dowry. At any time during my stay in Steppe, you could have rescinded your offer, but you did not. Not only have I accepted her offer, but now, magic backs my claim to her hand.”
Several feet behind Father sat the Witch General and the Magistratus at the desk in Aunt Cendrilla’s study. Oliveri stood by the wall. I clasped my hands and walked towards them.
“Alba.” Father’s eyes flashed. “Has he mistreated you?”
“He’s left me alone, mostly.”
King Magnar sniffed. “Mostly? I’ve been a perfect gentleman. Haven’t I given you the freedom and discretion to run around Mount Fornax as a boy?”
“Did you read about what he did?” I turned to Father and the others. “He’s turned Mount Fornax into his own kingdom!”
King Magnar rolled up his parchment, leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Master Fosco and his Council of Dragons decided they would be better off under my leadership.”
“And he’s sending the dragons to war!” I added.
“On the spriggans who have taken Savannah,” added King Magnar. “Steppe is perfectly safe.”
“For how long?” I spat.
King Magnar stood. “I have no intentions of invading Steppe. My marriage to Princess Alba will strengthen the bond of friendship between our countries. Even though she was awarded to me by magic, I am more than happy to pay reparations for my past actions and a generous bride price.”
The Magistratus leaned forward and hummed. “King Magnar makes a generous offer, and I believe the marriage will create a beneficial alliance between our nations.”
“What?” I shouted.
“He must hold you in high regard, child.”
“He doesn’t,” I muttered.
“Prince Regent, Witch General, Magistratus.” King Magnar strolled around the table and stood by my side. “My heart is set on only one woman. Over the few days I have known her, I have been impressed with her intelligence, poise, and fighting spirit.”
“And my fairy blood,” I muttered.
“What was that?” snarled Father.
“He just wants to marry me so I can fight spriggans on his behalf.”
The Witch General leaned across the table. “I appreciate your reluctance to marry, but I don’t understand why you would object to fighting for King Magnar when you have joined two military institutions.”
My lips parted, but no sound came out. It was like she had pulled back my veil of outrage and found me hypocritical.
“Remember when you agreed to fight any threats against Mount Fornax?” said Fyrian. “That includes spriggans. What difference would it make if you fought them to protect Mount Fornax or Savannah?”
She was right. The spriggans and Forgotten King were a threat to everyone. But that didn’t mean I had to marry King Magnar. I ground my teeth, trying to form a counter-argument.
King Magnar sighed. “I had your approval to this union when you sent her portrait and generous dowry. This part of the discussion is over.”
“I agree with King Magnar,” said the Magistratus. “He and young Princess Alba appear to have compatible temperaments. I believe theirs will be a long and successful union.”
Father slammed his fists on the table. “I will not tolerate this!”
“Look to yourself, Prince Regent,” said the old ogre. “How many times did Queen Cendrilla refuse you until she relented?”
“That was different,” he muttered.
“I think not.” The Magistratus’ words were as sharp as the horns protruding on the sides of his head. “King Magnar has little in wealth or status to gain from this union, yet he is willing to pay handsomely for a hand he has already been offered through legitimate channels and won by magic.”
I shot the Witch General a helpless look. She raised a shoulder as if to say my plight was nothing to do with her. I balled my fists. Hadn’t Aunt Cendrilla said she had married off all her female relatives except the Witch General? She probably di
dn’t want to be lumbered with King Magnar as a husband and was willing to sacrifice my freedom for hers.
Father’s face twisted. His nostrils flared. Then his features calmed, and he glowered at King Magnar. “I hear that you are an excellent swordsman. Before the wedding is consummated, you will honor me with a duel.”
My hands flew to my chest. The damsel denial’s magic only stopped people from preventing the marriage. Once I had become King Magnar’s wife, Father would be free to kill him. From the wicked glint in his eye and the way his fingers brushed the hilt of the Sword of Lightning, I could tell he would relish putting an end to King Magnar.
King Magnar grinned. “I accept on the condition that the Witch General lowers the quarantine wards around Mount Fornax.”
I stepped forward and raised my hand. “King Magnar needs to supply me with three items before the wedding can even take place.”
King Magnar scoffed. “Princess Alba may have her fripperies. I will produce them soon enough.”
My stomach dropped. I hoped the lightning sword would be more time-consuming to produce, otherwise this wedding, and the removal of the wards, might take place before Master Jesper produced the antidote.
“What say you?” said King Magnar. “Will you release the quarantine wards?”
The Witch General frowned. “Have the witches recovered?”
“That entire plague was the fabrication of rogue alchemists. There was no outbreak,” replied King Magnar. “Master Jesper is formulating an antidote to their poison.”
She spread her hands. “I have no objections.”
“Neither do I,” added the Magistratus. “As soon as you regain your throne, we expect reparations for the damage you and your accursed fairy artifacts did to the country.”
King Magnar straightened. “My Queen will see to it personally.”
“Good!”
Dragon Mage Academy Page 9
