Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  His gaze flickered to Father’s eyes, then to a spot on his beard. “B-because Princess Alba—”

  “Why?” Father roared.

  “You can’t talk to me like this,” said King Magnar. “I outrank you.”

  Father advanced on King Magnar. While Father was a mere four inches taller than the monarch, he had the bulky physique of a half-ogre, and King Magnar only had the appearance of a well-built human.

  I shook my head. How did a small male like that ever think he could compete with the likes of Father and Prince Vanus for Aunt Cendrilla’s affections? Even Master Fosco, insane as he was, had better prospects than this obstinate boy-King.

  The quartet of witches stepped in front of King Magnar, brandishing their lit staffs. The smallest of them stamped her foot. “Leave Maggie alone, you bully!”

  Father snorted and backed away. “Is this how the Great Conqueror defeated Savannah, Pampas, and the Midas Islands? With baby witches?”

  King Magnar’s lips shook. “We’re leaving!”

  The same security witch from before stepped forward. From the blue piping on her uniform, she had reached the rank of Major before leaving the Militia to join the sanctuary. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but nobody may leave Mount Fornax.”

  Father grabbed my arm. “Fosco has given me leave. I am taking my daughter.”

  I gasped. “But—”

  He didn’t give me the chance to object, as he strode back to the royal carriage, making me jog over the crunchy carapaces to keep up with his long strides. King Magnar protested, and even more security witches closed around him and his entourage.

  As soon as we stepped into the carriage and shut the door, he let go of my arm. “Sit.”

  “I can’t go with you. I’ll miss the first day of classes, and—”

  He raised a massive palm. “Classes are canceled for the day. The locusts are still at large, and many of them have laid eggs.”

  “Oh.”

  “Alba.” He knelt in front of me, placing both hands on my shoulders. For once, his eyes weren’t the color of glaciers. His brows drew together, as though he was concerned. “I want you to come with me to the palace.”

  “Why?”

  “Trouble is brewing in Steppe. Cendrilla has not been gone a day, and we are plagued with locusts and stolen dragon eggs.”

  “You think someone is trying to ruin the country?” I asked.

  “Or instigate civil war.”

  I glanced out of the window at King Magnar, who was still arguing with the security witches. “It’s him.”

  “Possibly.” Father grimaced. “Such sabotage would explain why a weakling like him was able to conquer neighboring countries.”

  “He said he’d declare war if Aunt Cendrilla didn’t marry him.”

  Father nodded. “Not all warlords are violent, I suppose.”

  “Some are scheming.”

  “Indeed. I do not want you here when war breaks out. You should go to the realm of the fairies.”

  “You heard Prince Vanus, Mother isn’t even there. I won’t know anyone.” Aunt Cendrilla would be in an enchanted sleep by now, and my maternal grandfather, Prince Evander, didn’t acknowledge any of his children. My cousin, Prince Chrysus, would take me in, but he would probably turn me into a caterpillar and then lose me.

  Father let out a frustrated breath. “You need to be safe. When the dragons discover their eggs are missing, they will revolt.”

  “It’s true,” said Fyrian.

  I shook my head. “But can’t we—”

  “Four sleeping dragons are powerful enough to shatter the wards around the Mount Fornax territory,” said Father. “A dozen can lay the Magical Militia to waste. And with Cendrilla gone…” He shook his head. “You cannot stay here.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Are you abducting me?”

  “Advising you.” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  “If anything happens, Fyrian will help me escape. She and I are bonded.”

  His brows furrowed. “You trust this dragon not to abandon you if her brethren revolt?”

  “Tell him our lives are linked,” said Fyrian.

  I repeated her words, and Father’s scowl loosened. “There is room for you both in Mount Bluebeard.”

  Placing my hands on his, I said, “Thank you, but I want to succeed as a dragon mage.”

  Father wrapped a large arm around my middle, encasing me in his warm, camphor wood scent. I closed my eyes and sighed. This reminded me of the times he’d hug me when I was small. Those days were gone now, and I was no longer the lonely little girl, desperate for his approval.

  He drew back, giving me an assessing look. Whatever he saw must have assured him I was capable of taking care of myself, because he stood and closed the window shutters.

  He sat next to me, cupped my cheek and placed a kiss on my forehead. White magic flared, and he let go. “Your enchantment is back in place. I will wait here for a few minutes to let you escape through the other exit. Stay away from that wretched boy.”

  “I thought you wanted to marry me off to King Magnar,” I said.

  Father’s lip curled. “Never to him.”

  Chapter 6

  I threw my arms around Father and squeezed him tight, inhaling his comforting scent. All his talk of the country going into disarray sounded terrifying, and there was no telling when I would see him again

  “If there’s a civil war,” I murmured into his curls, “don’t do anything stupid or heroic.”

  He rubbed my back. “You worry too much.” Someone knocked on the carriage door, and Father let go of me. “Go, before someone finds me in a clinch with a strange boy.”

  I scampered to the other side of the carriage, eased the door open and rushed across the courtyard, out of sight of King Magnar, who was still trying to order the security witches to release him. It was only when I’d passed the archway, crossed the other square, and rounded the jail block, that I slowed my steps.

  “What’s happening with the locusts?” I asked Fyrian.

  “Most of them are dead. The dragonets are dealing with the few that are left.”

  “And the eggs?”

  “I’m not sure… I expect the witches will work out a way to kill them without damaging the crops.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “Where are you?”

  Fyrian sent a visual of herself at the bottom of mountain’s interior, staring up at a boar being thrown down some kind of chute. “Isn’t it time you ate?”

  “I suppose.” Since she wasn’t in her stall, I headed for the mess hall.

  It was busy as usual. Today, the tables were laden with foot-long megaloceros sausages, served on the creature’s massive antlers. It was accompanied by yard-long platters of cheesy mashed potatoes and a tureen of onion gravy. Plumes of herb-scented smoke wafted into my nostrils, making my mouth water.

  Most of the warriors sat around tables eating their meals with giant mugs of foamy ale. Everyone seemed in good spirits despite the invasion of locusts.

  From the corner of the mess hall, a toffee-haired figure stood and waved. It was Stafford, my best friend, fellow quarter-ogre, and the only classmate who knew my secret. I waved back and pointed at the dozen warriors waiting in line at the serving table with their empty plates. He gave me a thumbs-up.

  When it was my turn, Eyepatch raised his brows at me. “Full or half sausage?”

  I glanced down at the pile of sausages, noting they were thicker than my forearm. “Quarter, please. And a tiny portion of everything else.”

  “That’s not going to fill a growing boy.” He took my plate and loaded it with a half-sausage and enough gravy and mash to drown a human.

  A groan rumbled in the back of my throat. “Thank you.”

  I suppose he meant well. The man wasn’t in the best of shape, and his gaunt face gave him the appearance of one who had grown up skipping several meals.

  Stafford, Rufus, and Gobi’s table was filled with empty plates.
A pile of bones littered the platter in the middle of the table, and it looked like they’d been there for a while or had been especially hungry.

  “Hello.” I sat at the free seat next to Stafford.

  Stafford beamed, his hazel eyes sparkling. He was about six feet three, a few inches taller than me, but with a muscular frame. As a quarter-ogre, he was more slight than Rufus and Gobi, but nowhere as puny as me.

  “Where were you?” Gobi glared up at me. The young half-ogre’s rounded cheeks were covered in the thinnest wisps of turquoise fuzz. “You were not in the royal box.”

  “Um…” I hadn’t thought of a good enough excuse. It wasn’t like I could tell them that I had been sitting on Aunt Cendrilla’s throne. The other two didn’t know my secret.

  “Albert was probably with Her Majesty,” said Stafford.

  Gobi’s eyes widened. Rufus stroked his beard as though coming to a realization. On my first day of assessment week, General Thornicroft had mistakenly outed me as one of my twin cousins. It was all thanks to Madam Skinner, the witch who had made my armor. She’d used the royal family portrait as inspiration to create my magical disguise.

  “Ummm… She wasn’t feeling well,” I muttered.

  They all gave me understanding nods, even Gobi, who seemed to dislike me for reasons I didn’t care to fathom.

  I skewered my sausage with a two-pronged fork and bit into it. Its warm, sage and game flavor filled my mouth, and gravy ran down my chin. Stafford snickered and handed me a handkerchief.

  “Thanks,” I said with my mouth full. “Did you fight the locusts?”

  Rufus puffed his chest. “Your dragon took us all down to meet her comrades. We rode them and burned the locusts from the skies.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “She’s great,” said Stafford. “I can’t wait to bond with a dragon.”

  Gobi grunted. “It looked like Fyrian bonded with Stafford.”

  Rufus shook his head. “A dragon cannot form a bond with two riders.”

  “I knew that,” muttered Gobi.

  I took a bite of my sausage, making sure to snap my teeth. What was wrong with Gobi? He tried to disparage me at every opportunity. This rivalry he’d set up in his own mind was pathetic. I was the smallest in our class of dragon mage cadets, but he was the youngest by several years. At his age, I would have loved the opportunity to study at such an exciting academy. I certainly wouldn’t be making irritating comments.

  “Have you thought about the kind of dragon you’d like to bond with?” I asked no one in particular.

  “Not yellow,” said Rufus.

  Stafford leaned forward. “Your brother rides a yellow, doesn’t he?”

  My brows rose. “The one who studied with Queen Cendrilla?”

  Rufus shook his head. “No, Niger, the brother in the fourth year.”

  “How many brothers do you have?” I asked.

  “Six.” Rufus dipped his sausage in a crater in his mash that he’d filled with gravy. “Albens and Livens have graduated, and they serve in the Dragon Defense Division. Three are mage cadets in the years above, and my youngest is at home.”

  “What’s it like to have so many brothers?” I asked.

  “There was never a quiet moment when we were growing up.” Rufus finished his sausage in two bites.

  I glanced at Stafford, whose eyes sparkled. He swigged a gulp of ale and set down his tankard. “What were you saying about yellow dragons?”

  Rufus grimaced. “They can remove all the cibus vitae from the air and use it to create flames that stretch for miles.”

  “How will its rider breathe without cibus vitae?” I asked.

  “He cannot. And I also do not like their use of toxic smoke”

  “Oh.” Stafford grabbed a bread roll from the middle of the table and dunked it in his gravy. “I’d also want a dragon whose attack won’t kill me.”

  I grunted my agreement. Fyrian’s flammable venom was good enough for me.

  After a few more bites of sausage and mash, my stomach bulged. I set down my fork and sipped at my tankard of ale. In all the excitement about Aunt Cendrilla’s magical mishaps, the unpleasant King Magnar, locusts, and the missing eggs, I’d forgotten to ask Father if he had a half-brother named Gobi.

  “Are you going to eat that?” asked Rufus.

  I shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  Rufus grabbed my plate and devoured my sausage and mash.

  “I went to the witch’s dining room to find Evolene,” said Stafford. “But the witch said she wasn’t there and let me have this.” He lifted a dome from a small platter, revealing two slices of lattice apple pie, browned with a cinnamon glaze.

  “Thanks!” My mouth watered.

  Gobi wrinkled his nose. “Are you two even ogres? How can you stomach such sweet things?”

  Rufus lifted his head from my plate. “They are ogre enough to outclass you in magecraft.”

  Gobi’s cheeks flushed.

  The entire room erupted into cheers. I turned around to see a group of dragon mages, all grinning. One of them had the same auburn hair and beard as Rufus, except he wore his long, while Rufus’ was neatly trimmed.

  Stafford stood and gave them a round of applause. “The drogott team.”

  I turned to Rufus. “Congratulations. How many of your brothers are on the team?”

  “Three. Niger is the captain, Brunus plays defense, and Virens is a reserve keeper.”

  I scratched my head. “I still don’t know how the game works.”

  Gobi rolled his eyes. “Even an idiot could work it out.”

  “Good.” Sitting back in my seat, I folded my arms. “You can explain the rules.”

  He picked up his empty tankard and pretended to drink. “I-I-I… The two teams are trying to get the fireball through the goal, right? But the other team has to stop them. But with lances.”

  Stafford leaned forward. “What does the Captain do?”

  “That would be…” He glanced at Rufus for help, but Rufus folded his arms. “I believe… He… He just tells everyone what to do.”

  I cut the apple pie into quarters and tuned Gobi out. It was strange… He was just as obnoxious as King Magnar, but he didn’t annoy me as much.

  “That’s because Gobi’s your uncle if he’s telling the truth,” said Fyrian.

  “Maybe that’s it. It couldn’t have been easy to live in exile with Lady Bluebeard. I heard the most terrible stories about her.”

  “Yes. Mount Bluebeard is paradise compared to the Midas Islands.”

  “Have you been there?” I asked.

  “No, but Alga did.”

  I took a sip of my ale. “Who’s that?”

  “The dragon who sleeps on my terrace that you say is the color of seaweed.”

  “Oh.” I lifted the slice of pie onto a napkin and took a bite. A mixture of tastes, tart and sweet, filled my mouth. I grimaced. They’d sweetened Golden Callisti apples with honey, spices, and sweet salt. It was… interesting.

  “And Magnar gets under your skin because he wants to be your mate,” said Fyrian.

  “It’s Aunt Cendrilla he wants, not me. And we hate each other.”

  “But I’ve seen the way he postures in front of you.” Fyrian crooned. “He wants you to know he’s big and strong.”

  I stopped chewing. Was my best friend and bond partner making fun of me? “But he isn’t.”

  “I didn’t say he was.”

  “Why are we talking about this idiot? What’s going on with the other dragons?”

  “The grays are searching the grounds for the eggs.”

  “Why them?” I asked.

  “They have the strongest sense of smell. Someone might have buried the eggs or hidden them in gravestone, making them undetectable by magic. If that’s the case, a gray will sniff them out, and a black dragon will uncover them no matter how deep they are in the ground.”

  Stafford kicked me under the table, and I jolted out of our conversation. His brows rose beneath his mop o
f caramel-colored hair, and he was staring intently at Gobi, who seemed to be telling some kind of tale. Some other cadets, older mages, I assumed, stood around us, and warriors from other tables leaned over to listen.

  “If you are betrothed to the Princess,” asked a green-haired half-ogre, “why did you sit with us and not in the royal box?”

  I dropped my napkin-full of apple pie and gaped.

  “The Prince Regent told me there wouldn’t be enough space,” replied Gobi.

  “When is your official engagement?” asked another warrior.

  “They are waiting for Princess Alba to complete her education,”

  “Everyone knows she failed the Magical Militia,” said someone else.

  Gobi shifted, cheeks pinking. “And the Prince Regent wants me to qualify as a mage, too.”

  I slid down my seat. They were gossiping about me, and worse, that idiot, Gobi was ruining my reputation. My teeth clacked together. I had to think of something to diffuse this conversation. It was an obvious lie. After meeting King Magnar, Father had no plans to marry me off.

  “She looks like Queen Cendrilla, doesn’t she?” said Stafford.

  I shot him a filthy glare.

  The other males nodded and grunted their agreement.

  “Except for the hair,” said one. He turned around to address another male. “You’re from the Perrault orphanages. Did you see Her Majesty today?”

  His lips turned down. “She and the Prince Regent usually have lunch with us after the opening ceremony, but the Prince Regent sent his apologies instead. I suppose it was all that trouble with the locusts.”

  I chewed my lip. Every time I heard stories about Aunt Cendrilla, she sounded more and more awesome.

  “Yes,” said Gobi. “Princess Alba had to leave for the same reason. But I expect she will return to meet me for lunch.”

  “Really?” I turned to him, flashing my eyes.

  Gobi puffed out his chest. “The Prince Regent named me his heir and a suitable husband for his only daughter.”

  I shook my head. If Gobi knew the reason why Aunt Cendrilla was absent from the ceremony, he wouldn’t boast about being the heir to the house of Bluebeard. By my estimation, the first of the quads would become the heir to the throne of Steppe, then another would rule the Glacier Islands, another Tundra, and the fourth would be the heir to the Noble House of Bluebeard.