Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  The Witch General turned her sharp gaze to the young woman. “How old are you?”

  “N-nearly sixteen, General.”

  “We witches have rules against the misuse of magic.”

  Evolene’s shoulders hunched. “I-I knew it was wrong, but Dad’s all I’ve ever had. It’s always been me and him, and he said he’d leave if I didn’t do what he said.”

  “And you created a glamor, burrowed tunnels into the mountain core and emulated dragon fire?”

  The Sergeant who had pulled us out of the tunnels stepped forward. “Evolene made a lengthy confession of her crimes.”

  “I will take that into consideration,” said the Witch General. “Was your father telling the truth about those plotting to overthrow the Queen?”

  Evolene gulped. “I never got the chance to hear their plans, but one of the Noble Houses is breeding witches for a war.”

  A chill swept through my bones. Was this the war Oliveri had been referring to at the palace? I’d originally thought that the threat had come from King Magnar. And now that Aunt Cendrilla was pregnant and unable to fight, would our enemies try to take advantage?

  “You worry too much,” said Fyrian. “The Witch General and General Thornicroft can protect Auntie Rilla.”

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Dr. Duclair says I’m a very resilient dragon. She gave me a bushel of lemons.”

  While the Witch General and Madam Maritumus discussed what they would do with Evolene after her interrogation, I focussed on Fyrian. “You never liked fruit as a dragonet.”

  “Strange, isn’t it? Green dragons like sour foods.”

  I nodded and thought about the two rapier reds stealing bitter apples from the Golden Callisti tree. Knowledge about the kinds of treats different types of dragon enjoyed would be useful.

  After bidding the Witch General goodbye, I headed through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the terrace. The sun had already set, and wispy, crimson clouds filled the indigo sky. As I passed the stalls, each dragon gave me nods and rumbles of approval. They had probably heard all about Fyrian’s escape from execution and were pleased that one of their own hadn’t been unjustly punished.

  Pride swelled my chest, making my steps as light as the warm breeze. I no longer feared discovery or Father’s wrath.

  An eight-foot-tall figure stepped out from one of the doorways. Dragon moths gathered around his head, making his white hair shine like sunlight. My heart skipped several beats. It was General Thornicroft.

  “Sir, I’m sorry for running out of class earlier.”

  “Are you truly penitent,” he said in a low whisper, “or are you apologizing to stay in my Dragon Mage Academy?”

  My throat went dry, and I swallowed. This was a challenge I could never win. I wasn’t at all sorry for ending those unfair laps. It wasn’t my fault I’d put too much magic into an enchanted weapon I’d been given no instructions on how to use, and it wasn’t my fault that a trained mage had been standing too close when I’d overpowered it.

  “Neither, sir. I’m sorry for not giving your class the respect it deserved. When I saw my chance to save Fyrian, I had to take it.”

  He stared at me for several moments, assessing me with his quicksilver eyes. I held his gaze, hoping he would see the truth in my words. If I’d listened to everyone, Fyrian would have gotten executed, I would have been murdered, and we would never have learned about the Noble House plotting against the Queen.

  General Thornicroft grunted. “During war, disobedience can get a soldier killed.” He paused as though waiting for me to contradict him. “And sometimes, a soldier sees something that others do not. I will be relying on those abilities in the future.”

  I beamed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Are there any more secrets you’re keeping from me, Cadet?”

  I shook my head.

  “Off you go.”

  I walked around him and strode to the nearest stair-stone. General Thornicroft stood in the middle of the terrace, staring after me.

  “He’s still miserable,” said Fyrian. “Him and his snooty silver.”

  I tried to picture General Thornicroft riding a silver dragon, and Fyrian conjured up a memory of him and a ferocious, grey dragon with silver horns shooing away a crimson dragonet.

  “Come on.” I bounded down the stairs toward the mess hall. “I need to find something nice for Stafford.”

  I balanced a platter on one palm and opened the door of my room. Stafford sat at my desk, looking out at the dragons. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn around.

  “Um…” My teeth worried my bottom lip. “I brought you something.”

  “I already ate.”

  “Oh.” I set the tray down on my desk and took off the lid, revealing a bowl of beef stew, a hunk of bread, and a large slice of strawberry tart.

  The warm aroma of beef and onion filled the room, making my stomach gurgle and my mouth water.

  Stafford licked his lips. “Where did you get the strawberry tart?”

  “The witches’ dining room.” I leaned into him, nudging him with my shoulder. “It’s yours.”

  He shook his head and continued staring out of the window.

  “Sorry for earlier,” I said.

  “You didn’t sound very sorry when you were shouting and trying to beat me up.”

  I smiled, noting the use of the word ‘trying.’ “Well, we were both wrong. Ivan turned out to be Mr. Jankin in disguise, and Evolene was a witch under his control.”

  Stafford’s eyes went wide. “What did they want?”

  “It was an elaborate ruse to abduct me.”

  “But Ivan told me he met you in the Capital Market. Why didn’t he grab you then?”

  I raised my shoulders and wondered about that pie shop he’d been desperate for me to visit. “Maybe Mount Fornax was an ideal hiding place because of its secret tunnels.”

  Stafford glanced at the strawberry tart. “Where is he now?”

  “Father took him.”

  His eyes glimmered with excitement. “The Prince Regent was here? Did he have his Sword of Lightning?”

  My shoulders drooped. Stafford was a good person, but there was an aspect to his personality I really couldn’t stand. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t mine, either, but if we were going to continue as friends, I needed to speak up. “Could you stop doing that?”

  “What?” His brows rose.

  “Getting over excited whenever someone mentions my family.”

  “But they’re heroes.”

  “True, but we’re training to become dragon warriors. At some point, we’ll be the ones going on adventures and winning wars.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “And what if you have to ride into battle with someone famous? Do you really want to be too busy fawning over them to defeat the enemy?”

  He shook his head. “All right. I get it. Can I have the strawberry tart, now?”

  “It’s yours. How about the beef stew?”

  “You can have it.”

  I sat on the bed with the tray on my lap. While Stafford ate the strawberry tart, I gobbled up the warm, delicious beef stew and recounted everything that had happened from the time Father had ordered the artist to make my betrothal portrait.

  Stafford furrowed his brows. “Who put the dragonsbane seeds in the Fornax Flying Float?”

  “I think it was a signal for Evolene to set up the murder scene.” I dipped my bread into the gravy. “Just in case his plan to take me to the pie shop didn’t work out.”

  “You turned down the chance to be the Queen of the Savannah Empire?”

  “King Magnar wanted my aunt, not me. What do you think he’d do when I turned up instead?”

  Stafford stared at my face for a long time. “That depends. Are you wearing a glamor?”

  I huffed and dipped a chunk of bread in the stew. “The healers will be finished with Fyrian soon. Do you want to come riding with me?”

  Se
veral minutes later, a helpful groom directed us to the equipment room, where we found a saddle large enough for two. We entered Fyrian’s stall. By the illumination of the dragon moths, we fastened the saddle on the space between her wings. Stafford sat behind me, his hands rigid by his sides.

  “You can hold onto my waist,” I said.

  He shook his head. “But I can’t.”

  “I’m disguised as a boy, remember?”

  “All right.” He wrapped his arms around my middle, and Fyrian stepped out of her stall and into the night.

  With an almighty leap, she soared toward the skies, over the mountaintop, and past a huge lake that reflected the crimson clouds. A gentle wind blew through my hair, bringing with it the faint, pleasant scent of sulfur. Dragons of all sizes and shapes flew in the distance, and I changed my mind about the sanctuary being a prison.

  “What are you going to do now?” asked Stafford.

  “Master Fosco and General Thornicroft have allowed me to stay.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Do they know?”

  “They found out before you did, yes.” When Stafford didn’t reply, I added, “Some of the witches know, and they’ve promised not to tell anyone I’m a girl. Will you keep my secret as well?”

  Stafford sucked in an excited breath. “Now that I know your deepest secret, does that mean we’re best friends?”

  “As long as you don’t ask too many questions about my aunt.”

  He stilled, seeming to consider that. “I suppose I’ll get to fight alongside her at some point in the future, so all right then!”

  “Good.” Fyrian swooped low, past rows and rows of terraces toward farmland that stretched out for miles. “He’ll make a better friend than Ivan.”

  “Albert?” he asked.

  “Yes?” I turned around.

  “King Magnar has your portrait, doesn’t he?”

  My brow furrowed. “Yes.”

  “What happens if he decides to accept your father’s offer? Would war really break out if you refused?”

  My insides twisted. According to news reports, he’d conquered countries for less. “Let’s think about that another time.”

  “Don’t worry,” replied Stafford. “I’d hide you if King Magnar came hunting.”

  I patted Stafford on the knee. “Keep up that attitude, and we’ll be the best of friends.”

  END OF BOOK ONE

  Poacher of Dragons

  Dragon Mage Academy Book Two

  Chapter 1

  The next time I disguised myself as a boy, I would make sure the witch who altered my features didn’t use a royal portrait as inspiration. Because everyone now thought I was one of Queen Cendrilla’s twin sons. That’s why Master Fosco recruited me into the small group of people welcoming the royal visitors.

  We stood under a thick, canvas canopy, our only protection from the sweltering, dry heat, waiting for the arrival of Father and Aunt Cendrilla. The red carpet under our feet led to the Drogott Arena, a sandstone amphitheater built on a patch of barren land within the outskirts of Mount Fornax Dragon Sanctuary territory.

  Cheers erupted from within the arena, making me groan. I wanted to be in there, watching the opening ceremony with my classmates, instead of standing in awkward silence with my instructors.

  “You’re missing out,” said Fyrian into my head.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Behind us stood a life-sized, sandstone statue of Aunt Cendrilla riding Fogo, her purple dragon. It depicted her wearing the ceremonial royal crown and raising her magestaff to the skies. The plaque beneath it said, ‘WARRIOR QUEEN.’

  My gaze slid to Master Fosco, the director of Mount Fornax. His long, burgundy hair hung down to his shoulders, softening his scowl. Clad in a leather jerkin of the darkest oxblood with matching breeches, he folded bare, muscular arms over his chest. He was probably the creator of Aunt Cendrilla’s statue.

  “Of course, he made it,” Fyrian said into my head.

  I pushed strands of magically altered, honey-blond hair from my face and squinted into the cloudless sky for a sign of flying carriages. The only activity was a giant vulture gliding in the wind.

  Master Fosco leaned into me. “Where are your parents? They’re late.”

  “Only one of them is my actual parent,” I said, “and I didn’t know they were coming until you dragged me out here.”

  The edge in my voice was because he knew my secret. Last week, he’d pressed gravestone on my face to nullify my glamour and recognized my true features in an instant. I wasn’t Queen Cendrilla’s son as everyone had thought, but her stepdaughter, Princess Alba.

  Things had been awkward between us since I’d accused him of murder and tried to get him arrested by the Witch General. It hadn’t been my fault—the real culprits had framed him, and I’d been desperate to save Fyrian from execution.

  “He should have investigated the murder instead of destroying the fake body and blaming me,” muttered Fyrian.

  I gave her a sharp nod. Fyrian and I had formed a deep bond that let us share power and speak into each other’s minds. With my help, the green dragon could fly as fast as a red, and she could infuse her flames with my fairy magic. In return, I could wield dragon fire through my hands and through dragon mage weapons.

  A low, rumbling grunt sounded from the direction of the east hills. Several yards away, four-mammoth-sized camelops pulled a two-story, golden carriage. Their hides shone as gold as the vehicle, darkening into bronze fur at the apex of their humps.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Late-running foreign dignitaries.” Madam Maritumus, the head of Mount Fornax security, raised her staff, shining green light from its crystal top. Security witches, each holding glowing staffs, ushered the carriage around to the front entrance of the arena.

  Before I could ask about the mysterious visitors, another cheer broke out from within the arena. I raised my head, hoping to catch a glimpse of the festivities through its large, arched openings.

  “What’s happening now?” I asked.

  Fyrian sent me a visual of the arena’s interior. Four-fifths of the seating tiers were taken up by dragons of all seven colors. Fyrian perched between two green dragons whose stalls were located on the same patch of terrace as hers on the mountain.

  The non-dragon section of the theater was filled with cadets wearing brown uniforms, dragon warriors, witches, and ogre guests. Above all of them was a royal box, guarded by four security witches in black, leather armor.

  Up above was the reason for the cheering: a group of green, blue, and yellow dragonets flew in formation, creating patterns with their flames.

  “I was supposed to be heading that procession,” she said with a tinge of regret in her voice.

  I blinked away the vision and sighed. Up until last week, Fyrian had been a dragonet. Unlike most creatures, dragons didn’t grow slowly over time. They remained in one stage of development, only reaching the next after absorbing enough ambient magic to make the change. So far, I’d only learned of the first four stages: egg, hatchling, dragonet, and dragon.

  “Bluford!” snapped General Thornicroft from my right.

  I glanced up, meeting the eight-foot-tall quarter giant’s cold, silver eyes. Strands of platinum hair, far paler than my natural hair color, framed his human-looking face. He taught Magecraft and was the leader of the Dragon Defense Division.

  “Y-yes, sir?”

  “Stand to attention, boy!” he barked. Although he’d also discovered my secret, he’d either forgotten it or had chosen to ignore that I was Princess Alba in disguise. “The royal carriage approaches.”

  I turned toward Master Fosco, who bounced on his heels, eyes shining with excitement. The male was hopelessly in love with Aunt Cendrilla. While conducting the murder investigation last week, I’d found paintings of her all over his private chambers. And he’d admitted to hating Father for having married her.

  A huge, black carriage with wide, bat wings landed at the
end of the red carpet. On its door was a golden crown underneath the Steppe coat of arms.

  My stomach twisted. Father probably wouldn’t have told Aunt Cendrilla that I had disguised myself as a boy, and I’d offend her by looking like her twins.

  A kitten-sized, purple messenger dragonet swooped down, clutching a scroll in its front paws.

  Master Fosco held out his arm, but the dragonet ignored him and perched on my shoulder.

  I eyed the golden seal securing the scroll. “Is that letter for me?”

  “Grawk!” The dragonet pointed the tip of its leathery wing at the royal carriage.

  “Oh.”

  The front doors of the vehicle opened, and eight witches stepped out, each clad in the black, leather uniform of the Magical Militia. Their leader, the Witch General stepped out last. The red-haired woman cast me a knowing look before greeting Madam Maritimus and the others.

  I stared at my feet. The last time I’d seen her, she’d arrested me for releasing Fyrian before her execution and for trying to fly her to safety. The Witch General had called it ‘perverting the course of justice.’

  “You proved her wrong,” said Fyrian. “I’ll bet she’s kicking herself for expelling you from the Magical Militia academy.”

  “I wouldn’t go back there if she begged me,” I replied.

  I didn’t have the right kind of magic to become a witch, and I still hadn’t completely recovered from the constant humiliation of failing to perform the most basic of enchantments. At least I was keeping up with my classmates here in the Academy.

  The Witch General opened the carriage’s back door, and Father stepped out, an exasperated scowl marring his features. He wore a royal blue frock coat with matching breeches. His Sword of Lightning hung on the left side of his belt, while a regular scimitar hung on the other. In the shade of the canopy, his blue hair and beard appeared nearly black. Aunt Cendrilla stood by his side, looking drawn.

  Master Fosco stepped forward. “Welcome—”

  He must have caught sight of Aunt Cendrilla because his breath caught at the same time as mine. Her emerald green eyes were dull, skin pale as milk, and what used to be honey-blonde curls now hung dark and limp over her shoulders. She wore a loose-fitting, blue dress, which stretched over her rounded belly.