Blood drained from my face, and my mind raced to the crypt Father kept in the basement of the Bluebeard Mansion. The coffins of his first six wives, each of whom had died in pregnancy, lay in a row. At the end of them was a seventh with no inscription.
“Is Auntie Rilla going to die?” Fyrian’s voice broke.
My heart twisted for both of them. Fyrian had lived in the palace, serving as Aunt Cendrilla’s messenger dragon for as long as I could remember. “I… No. I don’t know.” I tried not to think about the empty coffin. “Maybe quadruplets are extra taxing.”
“What did you do to her?” snarled Master Fosco.
Father grimaced but didn’t reply.
Aunt Cendrilla raised her hand. “I-I’m fine.” Her voice was as dry as parched earth. “Now, let’s get this academic year open.”
“How did your mother survive being pregnant with you?” asked Fyrian.
I rubbed my temples. “Father donated two of his lives to Mother and me.”
She growled. “He’d better donate five to Auntie Rilla, then.”
Bile rose to the back of my throat. I was sure Father would do everything he could to save Aunt Cendrilla.
Madam Maritimus was the first to speak. “Your Majesty! Do you require medical assistance? Dr. Duclair is at your disposal.”
Aunt Cendrilla gave the white-haired witch a weak smile. “Thank you. I’m due to visit Dr. Mallard in Elphame in a few hours.” She glanced at the side entrance to the arena. “My apologies for being late.”
Fyrian gave me a mental prod. “You can at least say hello.”
I stepped forward, wiping my damp palms on my leather dragon cadet uniform, but before I could greet Aunt Cendrilla, she doubled over with a loud groan.
“Cendrilla!” Father cried.
Master Fosco scooped his hand under Aunt Cendrilla’s elbow, keeping her upright, while Father held her on the other side.
I clapped my hand over my mouth. Something was terribly wrong with Aunt Cendrilla. While I’d lived in the Magical Militia compound, even witches pregnant with twins or triplets had glowed with the magic of their babies. The quadruplets had somehow drained her magic, and from her pale appearance, they’d fed on her life-force, too.
Father pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Aunt Cendrilla’s brow. “I told you to cancel your engagements!”
She pulled herself upright. “I felt fine this morning.”
“Rilla.” Master Fosco’s eyes softened. “Someone else can open the ceremony.”
The purple dragonet flew down from my shoulder and swooped toward Aunt Cendrilla. A stream of white magic shot from her swollen belly, freezing the little creature in mid-air. The magic shook the dragonet like a rattle, making a little whine reverberate in its throat.
“You’re hurting it!” I cried.
Around me, the witches performed an enchantment that coated their leather uniforms in a thin layer of fairy iron. I staggered back, eyes wide. The use of this metal was a throwback from the time the ogres were at war with the fairies, and when Steppe’s army needed all the protection it could muster from the more powerful beings. I glanced from Father to Master Fosco, but neither of them seemed alarmed at developments.
“What are they doing?” I asked out loud.
“Auntie Rilla’s lost control of her magic. They’re trying not to get hit.”
My brows drew together, and I cast my gaze back to the dragonet, who was now a blur of purple encased in opaque, white light. The magic vanished, revealing a dazed-looking cat with violet fur. The odd little creature dropped its scroll and yowled.
My mouth fell open. “What in the Known World is happening?”
“The babies have taken over her fairy magic,” replied Fyrian. “This happened the last time she was expecting.”
The flying cat blew out a plume of flame, setting Aunt Cendrilla’s handkerchief alight. Each of the witches shot streams of magic out from their staffs, but the flying cat darted behind the royal carriage.
“Don’t hurt it,” said Aunt Cendrilla.
“Aren’t dragons resistant to fairy and witch magic?” I asked Fyrian.
“But Auntie Rilla’s power is different… Like yours.”
“Oh.”
Master Fosco wrapped an arm around Aunt Cendrilla’s back. “I’d better take you back to the carriage, so you can rest.”
Father puffed out his chest. “I will take Her Majesty.”
She doubled over again, this time, shooting out another beam of white magic from her belly. Father deflected the power with his Sword of Lightning. It hit the statue of Aunt Cendrilla, which blinked and examined her staff.
“Oh, no!” I groaned.
With the sound of grinding millstones, the statue’s horned dragon stretched out its wings and leapt into the skies.
“Catch that thing before it crushes someone!” The Witch General shot magic at the sandstone Queen and her mount, but they dodged and flew out of range.
By the time I turned around to check on Aunt Cendrilla, Master Fosco had already swept her into his arms. Father placed iron bracelets on Aunt Cendrilla’s wrists, making her cry out.
I rushed forward. “What are you doing to—”
“Stand back!” shouted Father.
General Thornicroft pulled me away. “Unless you wish to spend the next three years as an animal, do not get between Her Majesty and one of her accidental curses!”
Master Fosco carried her toward the carriage, and Father turned to Madam Maritimus. “Lower the wards and prepare for the arrival of a high fairy.”
Chapter 2
I peered between the iron-clad witches, trying to piece together what had happened. Father clutched his sword, keeping his distance from Aunt Cendrilla while Master Fosco carried her back into the shade of the royal carriage.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I broke away from General Thornicroft’s grip and rushed over to where Father stood. “Should I be worried?”
A muscle on his cheek flexed beneath his beard. “The boys have taken control of Cendrilla’s magic. It happened when she was pregnant with the twins and the other one.”
“Oh.” My hand rested on my chest. Father was referring to Chrysus, Aunt Cendrilla’s son with her second husband, Prince Vanus.
“Don’t say his name out loud,” said Fyrian. “He once broke through the wards of Mount Fornax to see the dragons and got everybody agitated.”
I grunted. Everyone knew that uttering his name would make him appear. It was a mistake most people only made once. Although eleven years of age, Chrysus took on the appearance and personality of an irresponsible three-year-old. Only Aunt Cendrilla and the Queen of the Fairies could keep his mischief under control.
“Why aren’t you inside with Aunt Cendrilla?” I asked.
Father grimaced. “One of those curses landed on your mother, and it changed her species. She could not transform into a bluebird for three years.”
I chewed my lip. That wasn’t exactly how Mother had explained the incident where she and Aunt Cendrilla had fought over Father’s love.
“Then why is Master Fosco in there with her?” I asked.
“He is resistant to fairy magic,” muttered Father.
“Witch General,” said Madam Maritimus through the visor of her fairy iron armor. “My colleagues are scattered around the mountain on security detail. Could you and your lieutenants lend their power to make a hole in the wards?”
The red-haired witch nodded, then she and the other witches stood to one side, raising their staffs while Madam Maritumus performed the enchantment.
A pang of regret shot through my heart. If I’d been blessed with the power of a witch, I would have been able to help them.
“But then you’d be at the Magical Militia Academy, and you’d never have bonded with me,” said Fyrian.
“You’re right.” Turning to Father, I asked, “Has she been like this for long?”
“She was fine until we neared the wards.”
<
br /> I chewed the inside of my cheek. It seemed strange that the babies would take control of her fairy magic just because she entered dragon territory. While dragons and fairies were natural enemies, the quadruplets would be a quarter fairy, a quarter human, and half ogre. I shook my head. Thinking about having four baby brothers made me queasy.
“The fairy iron should have settled by now.” Father walked under the canopy toward the carriage.
I followed keeping several paces behind in case Father had changed his mind about dueling Master Fosco.
Stepping into the cool, orange blossom-scented interior of the royal carriage was like entering a majestic boudoir. Carpets the color of mulberry wine stretched across magically expanded interior, and lavender silk covered the walls. I held in a gasp, trying not to look awed at my first visit to the official royal vehicle.
At one end of the space stood a purple, velvet screen, which likely concealed a luxurious washroom, and at the other, lay Aunt Cendrilla on a seat of overstuffed mauve and violet cushions, her head in Master Fosco’s lap. Her golden curls fanned out over the burgundy leather of his breeches, making her look like a just-woken sleeping beauty.
Father glowered at them but said nothing. Was Aunt Cendrilla thinking of taking Master Fosco as her fourth husband?
Fyrian laughed in my head but didn’t elaborate on the joke.
Master Fosco and Aunt Cendrilla murmured to each other in low voices. She was actually smiling into his handsome face, as though they were the best of friends… Or courting. Perhaps no one had told her of all the paintings in his chambers of her and the purple dragon.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought I’d have more time before needing to return.”
“How long will you be gone?” he murmured.
I glanced at Father, whose lips thinned, but he didn’t comment or draw his Sword of Lightning.
“Fosco’s one of the only people around who isn’t affected by her power,” said Fyrian. “It’s always been like that.”
Nothing she said made sense.
White light flashed through the windows. Father muttered, “The wards are down.”
“Ah,” said Aunt Cendrilla. “Thank you.”
Master Fosco helped her upright, and Aunt Cendrilla looked straight into my eyes.
I stiffened. Most days, I avoided looking at her. She was the reason why Father had spent all his time in the capital, while Mother and I lived leagues away in Mount Bluebeard.
It hadn’t mattered that Mother had been mated to Father for a decade before I was born. He’d married Aunt Cendrilla, Mother’s half-ogre sister, to become the Prince Regent of Steppe. At the time, the country was on the brink of civil war, and Aunt Cendrilla needed a trustworthy regent, but the marriage relegated Mother into a concubine, and me to a bastard.
As soon as I was old enough to understand that Father loved Aunt Cendrilla more than us, I’d sided with Mother and avoided Aunt Cendrilla.
“Alba, I’m pleased to see you’re doing well,” she said.
“Thank you.” I kept my gaze on a silk cushion that had fallen to the purple carpet.
“Is that all you can say?” said Fyrian. “Auntie Rilla loves you.”
A lump formed in my throat. I knew this, but if I returned her smiles and overtures of friendship, then I would be just as bad as Father. Although loyal and mated to Father, poor Mother hadn’t been powerful or exciting enough to hold his attention, and I would not betray her.
Aunt Cendrilla’s head dipped. I imagined her smile waning and swallowed back the pang of guilt slithering up the back of my throat.
It was Master Fosco who spoke first. “We can’t keep the wards open. Call him down, Rilla.”
Aunt Cendrilla nodded and raised her head to the roof of the carriage, “Could you come down, please? I need your help.”
Father pulled me back a few steps out of the way.
Iridescent fairy light flashed, and a six-foot-tall, silver-haired fairy appeared in the room. Silvery dragonfly wings fluttered through a white, silk shirt worn over matching breeches.
My heart skipped several beats. It was Prince Vanus!
“Oh, dear.” Prince Vanus tilted his head to the side, fingers over his mouth. “I don’t remember you being this big two days ago.”
“Don’t just stand there,” snarled Father. “Take her to Elphame.”
Prince Vanus turned around. His hair swirled as though ruffled by a breeze, and his quicksilver eyes fixed on Father.
My breath caught. It was rare that I got to see Aunt Cendrilla’s second husband or any other high fairy, but he, along with the rest of his species, was mesmerizingly beautiful.
Mother told me that only Prince Evander, her and Aunt Cendrilla’s golden-haired father, was more handsome.
“Orson, how nice it is to see you,” he said in a voice that sounded the complete opposite.
“My sons have taken over Cendrilla’s magic,” Father replied. “She needs Dr. Mallard.”
The Prince’s lips curved into a half-smile. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Father grinned. It wasn’t the kind of cold-blooded smile predators like him made at enemies. It stretched all the way to his blue eyes, making them crinkle at the corner. I supposed Father’s rivalry with Prince Vanus was superficial, as they’d fought together during the Great Dragon Revolution and worked together on the creation of Mount Fornax.
Prince Vanus’ gaze fell on me, then his eyes twinkled with mischief. “I don’t remember Armin having a third son.”
“It’s Alba,” I whispered. “I’m disguised as a boy.”
His eyes softened. “Paloma sends her love.”
My heart stuttered. “Where’s Mother?”
“The Queen has sent her regiment to investigate a magical disturbance in the Savannah Empire.”
“Thank you.” I chewed my bottom lip. It was the country to the east of Steppe, ruled by the brutish King who had threatened to wage war if Aunt Cendrilla rejected his proposal of marriage. “If you see her, will you let her know I’m here in Mount Fornax?”
“Of course.” Prince Vanus stepped toward Aunt Cendrilla and recoiled. “I can’t take ’Bursti if she’s clad in fairy iron.”
I bowed my head to hide a smile. For reasons unknown to everyone, Prince Vanus liked to give people annoying nicknames. ’Bursti was short for Gullinbursti, which Aunt Cendrilla’s mother had named her before she’d been stolen as a baby. By the time Mother and Father had found her living as a human in the United Kingdom of Seven, she’d gotten used to the name Cendrilla.
“Point those hands away from me.” Father pushed past Prince Vanus but didn’t approach until Master Fosco placed his larger hands over hers.
Father pressed a kiss on her lips. “Return soon, Cendrilla.”
She smiled. “We will.”
With a sigh, Father tapped the fairy iron bracelets loose and put them back into his pocket. He stepped away and in front of me, so I had to peer around his shoulders to see what was happening.
Aunt Cendrilla’s eyes fluttered closed, and she slumped against Master Fosco’s chest. His eyes were damp and his lips trembled, as though he was holding back tears.
I furrowed my brow. He was the most peculiar person I’d ever met.
“I’d be upset if we had to be separated for an unknown amount of time,” said Fyrian.
“Me too,” I replied. “But that’s different.”
She either didn’t reply, or I was too engrossed in watching Aunt Cendrilla’s admirers to hear what Fyrian had said. Prince Vanus scooped her up out of Master Fosco’s arms and grinned. “Dr. Mallard will probably put her into an enchanted sleep again. I’ll let you know if she or the boys need anything.”
Father nodded. “Thank you.”
He turned to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Would you like a replacement godparent while Bursti is indisposed?”
“No,” growled Father.
Prince Vanus laughed and popped away, leaving me
, Father, and a depressed Master Fosco behind.
The Witch General poked her head into the carriage. “Madam Maritimus wants to know if we can replace the wards.”
“Aye,” said Father, “but not before you suppress Alba’s enchantment.”
I stared up at him. “Why?”
Master Fosco stood. “Someone has to declare the Academy open for the new academic year.”
“But I’m only a dragon mage cadet.”
“But Princess Alba is not.” With a devious grin, Father clapped me on the back, making me stumble toward Master Fosco. “Take this as your first official duty as the Prince Regent’s daughter.”
“Um… What do I have to do?”
The Witch General took those words as agreement and pointed her staff at me. Magic flashed, and long, platinum-blonde hair tumbled down over my shoulders. I glanced down at my body. It was female again.
Father grinned and slung his arm over my shoulder. “Come.”
“Wait!” I ducked out from under his grip, edging toward the carriage window. “I can’t go out like this. Everyone will wonder why a girl is wearing a cadet’s uniform.”
“General?” said Father.
The Witch General shot pink magic at my clothes, and my brown, leather armor morphed into a long-sleeved bodice with an ankle-length, burgundy leather skirt. It was a far cry from the breeches mother and I wore. I pressed my lips together, not wanting to complain about the impractical outfit in case she restored my uniform.
“Is that everything?” she said, voice clipped with impatience.
“How will I turn back?”
Lips thinning, she blasted me with more pink magic. “A kiss on the forehead will restore your disguise.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, but she’d already left.
I shuffled my feet, cheeks warming. I’d been selfish to have delayed the restoration of the wards.
“How many witches in Steppe would have been able to undo her work?” asked Fyrian.
Dragon Mage Academy Box Set Page 23
