“Strong enough to wake a sleeping dragon,” added Master Fosco.
I clenched my teeth. “He would have killed me if I hadn’t destroyed that armor.”
Father folded his arms across his chest. “I see nothing wrong with Alba’s conduct. She has exposed the source of the Savannah Empire’s power.”
Master Fosco bared his teeth. “King Magnar declared war on the United Kingdom of Seven.”
“What for?” The Witch General frowned.
“King Magnar wishes to punish King Armin for the transgressions of his supposed son!” growled Master Fosco. “Everyone believes she is either Prince Brendon or Prince Robert.”
Father stood, a storm brewing in his eyes. “This is a problem.”
“It’s not like I’m encouraging the rumors!” I blurted.
“You will fix this immediately.” He stalked toward the screen, eyes blazing.
I gulped. “How?”
“Forfeit the duel. Beg his forgiveness.” His voice rose to a roar. “Reveal your true identity!”
My bottom lip trembled. I held back my tears and balled my fists. This was worse than failing the Magical Militia Academy. Worse than getting caught stealing Fyrian out of the Sanctuary. It was only now that the full weight of my actions had registered. I’d condemned poor Uncle Armin to a possible invasion from an army that used dark magic. How many more of those suits of armor did King Magnar have at his disposal?
“I-I’ll speak to him.”
“Do so,” said the Magistratus from his seat. “Civil unrest has broken out in the capital. With the Magical Militia dealing with the rebels, and the Dragon Defense Division searching for the missing eggs, the country’s resources are stretched.”
“Not to mention the situation with the locusts,” muttered the Witch General.
He inclined his head. “Indeed. Steppe is in no position to assist our greatest ally. If this situation continues, and the United Kingdom of Seven is embroiled in a war, famine will break out over Steppe.”
“And ogres will start eating humans.” Father’s scarlet face was so close to the screen, I had to step back. Angry veins protruded from his temple like bolts of lightning. “Fix this situation with King Magnar and use any method at your disposal to stop this war.”
Master Fosco shook his head. “Alba cannot stay here. Her presence is too upsetting for the dragons.”
The Witch General strolled to stand next to Father. “How can you be sure the cause isn’t King Magnar’s dark magic?”
“I smell the dark magic on her.”
Father frowned. “The capital is under siege. You will have to keep her until it is safe.”
Master Fosco growled. “She is a danger—”
“She will not returning to the capital until she has convinced King Magnar to call off his war!” He stormed back to his seat.
My throat thickened. They were both talking about me as if I was something troublesome and unpleasant that neither of them wanted to keep.
“Ignore them,” said Fyrian. “They’re both too obsessed with Auntie Rilla to notice that you’re brilliant.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled into our bond.
The Witch General gave us an apologetic smile. “Your territory is vast. I’m sure you can keep Alba away from the dragons. If you brought her back to the capital, she’d just get in the way.”
I bowed my head and sighed. After what I had done, it was no surprise that neither party wanted me. I only hoped that King Magnar would be willing to listen to my apology.
Chapter 16
The next morning, I awoke to heavy pounding on the door. I bolted upright, with a jolt. My hammock rocked to the left. I gripped the edges of its fabric to stay upright. Bronze light streamed in through a small window on my right, indicating that the sun had just risen, and a yawn rippled from my lips. This was far earlier than I was used to waking. I pushed glamoured, blonde hair off my face and jumped down off the hammock onto a warm floor of rammed earth.
Someone pounded on the door again. “Come along, lad, work starts at daybreak.”
Master Fosco had ordered Fyrian and me to report to the outermost region within the Mount Fornax territory. We stayed in a patch of drylands in the process of being cultivated. Until the Magical Militia had squashed the rebellion in the capital, Fyrian and I would help out on the lands.
A sigh slid from my lips. “Hold on.”
Whoever was at the door clomped away, and I rushed to the corner of the wooden hut in my long underwear. Unlike the cadet bedrooms, this shack did not have any enchantments regulating its temperature, and the room was already hot and stuffy.
“Are you awake, Fyri?”
“Yes,” she said through a yawn. “The nice man brought me a giant sloth.”
My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, as the drogott team had dragged me to the duel before I’d gotten dinner. Once I’d fastened the buckles on my jacket, I ventured outside.
A warm breeze blew through my hair from a light indigo sky streaked with the thinnest of crimson clouds. A streak of sunlight filled the horizon, casting the eastern hills in shadow. I padded out over ground that eroded into pebble-sized chunks of soil with every step. The poor condition of the land made me wince. Cultivating land this dry required a team of agricultural witches, not a disguised Princess and her dragon!
Somebody cleared his throat. It was a half-ogre clad in a wide-brimmed, straw hat, leaning against a shovel. The leather of his olive-colored uniform was encrusted with dirt. “Master Solum tells me that you be one of them cadets, brung here by Master Fosco.”
“Um… that’s right.”
“Viettei be me name.” He jabbed his broad chest with a grubby thumb. “But you can call me Viet.”
“Ah…” I rubbed my palm on my uniform. The shack didn’t have washing facilities, and I felt awkward about offering Viet my unwashed hand.
We shook hands, and he was kind enough not to squeeze too hard.
“Look,” I said. “It’s very nice to meet you and everything, but I need to get back to the mountain because I kind of started a war with that King who stole all the dragon eggs. The Prince Regent ordered me to apologize, but I can’t do that if I’m all the way out here, can I?”
Viet stared at me for a long time, making me chew the inside of my lip. I supposed I could get Fyrian to fly me to the mountain, but I didn’t want to escape in case Master Fosco had made Viet responsible for keeping me under control.
“Speak to Master Solum. He makes the decisions round here.”
“What do you do?”
“I be the chief gong farmer.” He puffed out his chest. “And you be working for me.”
“Gong?” I raised my brow.
“Fancy word for dung. Us lot be turning this hard soil into something fit for farming.”
In Mount Bluebeard, we had human serfs who collected animal dung to create plant food, but I’d never heard of it being applied directly to the soil. I supposed I would learn what he meant. “Will we work with agricultural witches?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Not a chance. Our job be to move dung from one place to another. A dragon will make things easier, mind you.”
“Oh.” My shoulders dropped in sympathy for Fyrian. “All right.”
“Wait,” said Fyrian. “I’m a beast of burden now?”
“You can go back to Mount Fornax if you like,” I said into the bond.
“No. We stick together, no matter what.”
Her words gave me a warm glow.
Viet pushed a shovel in my hand. “Tomorrow morning, I want you awake before sunrise.”
“Yes, sir.”
He grinned. “No one ever called me sir.” He clapped a hand on my back. “You and me be getting on well already!”
Viet was delighted for the chance to fly on Fyrian’s back across the territory to where the black dragons lived. It was half a mile away from the mountain and consisted of a series of hollow, grass-covered mounds that remind
ed me of giant igloos, but without the snow.
As we landed on a sunny meadow of wildflowers, I said, “I don’t get it. Why am I allowed near black dragons if I have to stay away from the mountain?”
He scratched his cheek, lips turned downward in an I-don’t-know-expression.
“Black dragons are the most tolerant kind.” Fyrian crouched down, allowing us to dismount. “They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”
A tall man with chestnut brown skin emerged from one of the mounds. My jaw dropped. It was the male who had come to the holding stall with the other masters. My stomach tightened as I braced myself for a rebuke.
Viet nudged me in the ribs. “Look lively. There be Master Solum.”
Master Solum strolled toward us. He stood about six feet two in height, and he wore an olive, leather tunic that exposed his muscled arms. I suppose he thought it was too hot for armor, but it was strange that someone who worked so closely with dragons didn’t protect themselves. Jet black hair hung to his shoulders in a series of intricate braids that reminded me of Uncle Armin’s mother, Queen Rhodopis, who hailed from the Pharaoh Islands.
“Is he one of the instructors?”
“Not that I know of.”
Viet doffed his hat at the regal-looking man, and I resisted the urge to curtsey. “Morning, Master Solum! I brung the expelled cadet, just like you asked.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you, Mr. Viettei.” He turned to me, revealing eyes so dark, I couldn’t distinguish iris from pupil. “Bluford, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I understand you were responsible for that flare of dark magic we experienced at the Council of Dragons.”
I shuffled my feet. “Not exactly, sir.”
His nostrils twitched. “Strange… I do not sense any dark magic on you today. However, you are expelled and in our care until your guardian is ready to give permission for you to leave.”
My insides cringed at the memory of last night’s conversation with Father and the Witch General. Even though they wanted to keep me out of harm, I’d never felt so useless and unwanted.
He gestured toward the grassy mounds. “Ever since the eggs went missing, my females have been depressed and producing more dung than usual. You and Fyrian will shovel the dung into containers and transport it to the east territory.”
“The Prince Regent ordered me to apologize to King Magnar for what happened last night, so he can call off the war.”
“No. You will remain here for now and toil.”
My shoulders still drooped. It was like Masters Fosco and Solum didn’t trust me to talk King Magnar round.
“They might be giving you both time to cool off,” said Fyrian. “That’s how it works with squabbling dragons.”
Her words lifted my spirits somewhat, but if they kept us apart, I would never get to apologize, and King Magnar would leave Mount Fornax still thinking he needed to wage war against the United Kingdom of Seven. I wrung my hands. “Sir? If the black magic has gone, why can’t I return to the mountain?”
“You were expelled. Do you know what Master Fosco does with expelled cadets?”
I gulped. “No.”
“Those who fail to become riders and mages are offered the opportunity to work as grooms, and those who fail that work as servants within the mountain or tend the lands under my direction.” His fathomless eyes seared into my soul like a branding iron, making me cringe. “However, your offense was so heinous, he will not consider you for anything else but shoveling dung. Count yourself lucky that he didn’t shove you out of the wards and tell you to walk home.”
Whatever hope I had left of making amends with King Magnar shriveled into dust.
“You’ll just have to sneak into his room after dinner,” said Fyrian.
My stomach churned. There had to be another way.
“Cadet Bluford.” Master Solum tilted his head to the side. “It is bad manners to conduct a conversation with Fyrian while you are conversing with me.”
“I… I’m sorry.”
“Good.” He swept his hand over to the mounds of earth. “Now, get to work.”
The harsh, morning sun pounded on my back like an ogre’s fists as I trudged to the nearest dwelling. To my surprise, its interior was cool and humid. A dragon whose umber scales reminded me of fertile earth lay on her front with her head on her paws. Her nostrils twitched, and she cracked open sad, amber eyes.
“I’m Alba.” The words tumbled from my mouth. “Master Solum told me to collect your dung.”
The umber dragon gave me the tiniest of nods and slumped back onto her paws.
An ache formed in the back of my throat, and I blinked several times to stave off tears. “I didn’t realize they were so badly affected.”
“How would you react if someone took your baby?” asked Fyrian.
My mind went back to the time I’d been abducted by alchemists in the United Kingdom of Seven. No matter how much I cried out for Aunt Cendrilla, she didn’t come. Somehow, Mother had found their hideout and brought hundreds of smaller birds as backup. She flew in, feathers ruffled and murder in her obsidian eyes, ordering the other birds to peck the men to death. It had been the most terrifying experience of my life.
“You do know why Auntie Rilla couldn’t come?” asked Fyrian.
I walked to the other end of the dwelling and stuck my shovel into the dragon’s dung. “Yes. She was in an enchanted sleep, because she was pregnant with Chrysus. I didn’t understand that at the time.” To distract her from the subject, I asked, “Are the other dragons depressed?”
“Some are furious, some want to go on a rampage. It depends on the species, really.”
“And the greens?” I asked.
“We want to take something that belongs to King Magnar and not give it back until he returns the eggs.”
I continued shoveling dung into the barrow until it formed a five-foot-tall heap. Then I pulled it out and tipped the dung into a larger cart.
After I’d mucked out the first dragon, Viet handed me a piece of tarpaulin to stretch over the cart. Attached to it were ropes, which I presumed would be tied to some kind of yoke.
“Work faster, lad,” said Viet. “We still have plenty more to go before the black dragons make their afternoon dung.”
With a groan, I trudged to the next dwelling, where yet another despondent dragon lay on her side. Glassy eyes, glistening with tears stared out of a face covered in dull, gray scales. I introduced myself and set to work collecting the dung. It was hard, smelly work, and I managed to get dung in my hair, under my nails, and all over my armor.
By the time Viet walked over with a canteen of water and two bread rolls stuffed with meat, I was a filthy, sweaty mess.
We sat on mounds of dried dung and ate a late breakfast. Viet talked about how black dragons were the only type whose dung could be used in agriculture, but I could barely concentrate. Somehow, I’d managed to make everything worse. The eggs were still missing, King Magnar had declared war against Uncle Armin, and I’d disturbed the slumber of the most powerful creatures in the Known World. I needed to go to the mountain and make things right.
“We will,” said Fyrian. “After dark.”
I gulped. If Father ever discovered I was contemplating sneaking into a gentleman’s bedroom, he would lock me up in a tower for the rest of my life.
Viet swigged the last of his water. “Back to work, lad.”
Suppressing a groan, I pulled myself to my feet. Shoveling dung was far more rigorous on the body than running laps in General Thornicroft’s Magecraft class.
“It’s time for you and your dragon to shift the carts over to the east of the territory.”
“Right.” I turned to where Fyrian rested under a nearby grove of tall pomelo trees. “Are you ready?”
She raised her head and blinked. “I suppose.”
Viet and I lashed the barrow to a special harness, and then Fyrian pulled it down an earthen path to where the farmland en
ded and the drylands began.
After detaching Fyrian from the barrow, I pulled off the tarpaulin and a gust of warm, dung-scented air whooshed into my face. “Bleargh!”
“Someone’s coming,” said Fyrian.
A black dragon swooped down. Its rider’s blond hair billowed in the wind, and an arrogant face stared down at me.
My lip curled. “King Magnar.”
The dragon landed, but the King didn’t dismount.
“There you are, Bluford. I see they’ve assigned you something more befitting your station.”
“If you mean hardworking and honest, I suppose you’re right. The United Kingdom of Seven is one of the largest producers of agriculture in the world.”
His lips tightened. “The Savannah Code of Honor rules dictate that our duel is null and void. A gentleman who attacks the weapon or armor of another to gain an unfair advantage loses the duel by default.”
“I’ve never heard of that.” I folded my arms.
“You’re supposed to be apologizing to him!” hissed Fyrian.
I knew this, but something about King Magnar made my skin itch and my blood boil. My heart thrummed like angry war drums, urging me to leap up and pummel the arrogant smile off his face.
King Magnar stuck his nose into the air. “It’s not my fault you’re ignorant of the gentlemanly code of conduct we use in the Savannah Empire.”
I clenched my fists. “Let me guess… you made it up this morning.”
A flush stained his cheeks. “S-shut up!”
The admission was like a kick in the gut. Insults rolled from the pit of my belly, up my gullet, and down my tongue. I wanted to call him the most pathetic monarch in the Known World, a spoiled brat and a runt who used magical apparatus to make himself appear manly, but Fyrian interrupted my thoughts.
“Magnar’s just declared war on Uncle Armin. Pull yourself together and pretend to be sorry!”
My shoulders drooped. Fyrian was right. Because everyone still thought I was Aunt Cendrilla’s son with Uncle Armin, my actions reflected on them. “You weren’t this sage last week.”
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