He lowered himself in the seat next to the bed and dipped his head. “I do wish you'd stop resisting my advances.”
“How did you get in here, anyway? Someone’s supposed to be keeping nuisances like you out.”
King Magnar’s lips formed a thin, angry line, as though I was the one who had disturbed his private moment of convalescence. “I don’t expect you to understand my circumstances.”
My eyes flashed. “You made a deal with a spriggan to fashion magical armor to conquer your neighbors. Now it wants a payment you can’t provide. I’m right, aren’t I? Did you promise to give it dragons?”
He winced. “My situation is far more complicated.”
Sitting up, I folded my arms over the linen hospital tunic. “Go on. Explain.”
“Do not presume to command a King!”
I curled my lip. “A man who usurps his father and then loses his kingdom to a spriggan doesn’t deserve such a title.”
He shook his head and rose from his seat. “I’m clearly wasting my time.”
At this point, Fyrian would tell me to push aside my animosity and question him about his plans. A wave of sadness swept over me. I’d only been connected with Fyrian for a few weeks, yet not having her in my head made me feel empty.
King Magnar reached the door and pulled his face into the kind of petulant scowl that made my hands itch to punch him in the nose, but I smoothed out my expression and sighed. “You’d better sit down.”
His face lit up. “Really?”
“Sit, before I change my mind and get one of the witches to throw you out.”
“I-I brought you something.” He closed the door and rushed to my bedside. Then he reached into his knapsack and fumbled around.
My heart skipped several beats. His knapsack was likely magically expanded and held a myriad of secrets. Perhaps he wanted to turn off the curse he’d placed on the dragons. “Is that the artifact?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you have the artifact that’s making the dragon’s sick?”
“If the spriggan could fashion something so powerful, it would have dropped it outside the wards and used it to command the dragons out of Mount Fornax.” He leaned close. “What are you accusing me of?”
“Nothing.” I gestured at my bedside table. “Would you like some porridge?”
Eyeing the cold bowl, he said, “Err... No, thanks. That fellow with the eyepatch gave me more than enough breakfast earlier.” With a triumphant smile, he pulled out a white stone. “Here.”
I stared at the polished orb. “That’s gravestone. Where did you get it?”
“That librarian said I could borrow it.”
“Why?” I leaned back, pulling the covers up to my neck in case he dropped it on my lap.
“I thought it would make things easier. Take it.”
He hadn’t answered my question. After King Magnar and his sisters had borrowed all those books on dragon eggs and high fairies, it made no sense that the librarian would lend him a lump of a precious, magic-absorbing stone.
I shook my head. Books could be replaced, and I needed to focus on the sick dragons. “Why did you bring me a lump of gravestone?”
“So we can talk.”
“About?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“I wrote a letter of apology to the Prince Regent for my role in Steppe’s recent misfortunes.”
“Your—” I choked. “Do you know how much trouble you caused everyone with your locusts and riot? And the sleeping dragons would have burnt us all to ashes to find the eggs you stole.”
“But it was—”
“The spriggan would never have moved the eggs out of Mount Fornax without your sisters’ help!”
“But I apologized in writing and offered ample reparations. I’ve even waived the generous dowry...” King Magnar continued his monologue, listing all the ways he would make good on the damage he caused Steppe. Not a word of it included a plan on how he would regain the Savannah Empire, leading me to conclude that he still expected me to rally the dragons to win back his throne.
Blood roaring in my ears muffled his words, and the edges of my vision turned red. Without Fyrian in my head, distracting me with her commentary, my rage was free to build. It swirled around like wildfire, burning through the magical suppressant. King Magnar mentioned something about a palace overlooking a lake, but his words evaporated in my inferno of hatred and fury.
I stared ahead, trying to form ways to bring our conversation back to the topic of what was affecting the dragons, but a smooth surface cooled the side of my face. Platinum hair fell into my eyes, snapping my attention back to King Magnar.
Keeping the gravestone pressed to my cheek, he hummed with approval. “With the right amount of grooming and magical cosmetics, I wager you’ll make an adequate consort.”
I reared back, and my glamor snapped back into place. “How dare you!”
King Magnar stood and headed toward the door. “If you insist on denying me, I will have one of the witches perform a permanent reversal of your glamor!”
Panic lanced through my heart, and I leaped off the bed, grabbed his arm and threw him across the room.
King Magnar landed on the bed and bounced himself to a sitting position. He pulled his flying jacket closed, eyes wide, cheeks turning pink. “My spies warned me that the ladies of Steppe were a passionate lot, but please contain yourself until after we are wed.”
A huff of incredulity escaped my lungs. This couldn’t be the waking world. It had to be part of my dragon quest. I’d probably fallen asleep after Roseate had left the porridge, and my hollow cheese mind had dreamed up a hospital version of my encounter with King Magnar by the waterfall. Because this situation was too ridiculous to be real.
“Calm yourself!” King Magnar walked back, both palms raised, as though trying to fend off a charging bull. “If you’re that desperate, we can travel to the nearest church on my orlovi bird. She can’t fly like a dragon, but she is faster than any horse.”
I clenched my fists. “Come here and say that.”
His back hit the wall. “If you’re going to turn violent every time I spurn your attentions, I’ll have to write to the Prince Regent and demand that he double the original dowry.”
“Father’s more likely to slice you in half with his Sword of Lightning!”
The door slammed open. “Get out!” screamed Roseate. “You’re disturbing all the patients.”
I folded my arms across my chest and flicked my head toward the door. “You heard her. Go.”
King Magnar’s lips formed a tight line. “This conversation is not over.”
Dr. Duclair glided in. A wicked scowl twisted her pleasant features. “Unless you’re here to lift the curse you’ve placed on the dragons, I suggest you leave.”
King Magnar straightened. “You have me wrong, Madam—”
“Doctor.” She pointed her staff at his throat. “But your presence here is making me forget the oath I took not to do harm.”
He backed away, lips pursed. “Then I will take my leave.” He inclined his head at me. “We will speak soon.”
Madam Duclair glided across the room and opened the small cupboard which held my leather uniform. Then she picked up my dream-horn with her staff and placed it in the inside pocket of my flying jacket. “You are also discharged. Take one vial of magical suppressant every three hours and perform the dragon quest with General Thornicroft until you repair the holes in your mind.”
I spluttered. “What did I do?”
“Your presence here attracts the wrong sort. I will not have my patients upset by undesirables and bickering.”
“But I wasn’t…” I huffed. What was the point in defending myself? This was what I wanted: an opportunity to save Fyrian and the others.
The witches left the room. I locked the door and changed into my cadet uniform. As I headed for the door with the rack of vials under my arm, my foot kicked something across the room. It was the
piece of gravestone King Magnar had borrowed from the librarian. I picked it up and placed it in my knapsack. It might come in handy later.
In the hallway outside the door, Gobi dozed with his arms folded, propped up against the wall. I ran a hand through my hair. At least I knew why no-one had stopped King Magnar from entering my hospital room.
His nostrils twitched. Then he opened his eyes and he scanned my face. “Are you leaving, then?”
“Yes. Thanks for keeping watch. Dr. Duclair discharged me.”
Gobi rubbed his hands together. “They are serving bloodwurst porridge in the mess hall. See you later!”
My nose wrinkled. That was the kind of dish I could imagine Eyepatch would have prepared. Floppy bits of innards floating on a sea of congealed blood. It was the kind of dish Father would have the servants offer the ogre guests who would occasionally visit the Bluebeard mansion. At times like that, I never minded being the daughter he kept hidden from polite society.
Gobi jogged down the hallway and disappeared through the front doors.
I followed after him, rubbing my empty stomach. Hopefully, Eyepatch would have a tureen of plain porridge, or I could eat a breakfast roll with cheese. Outside, I inhaled a deep breath of fresh, chamomile-scented air. The lush, green gardens resembled that of the Magical Militia, except that it grew medicinal plants instead of vegetables.
Beyond the gates of the walled garden, four males dressed in the burgundy uniform of dragon mages, surrounded a smaller male with blond hair. I rushed across the garden, clutching my rack to my chest, hoping they would stay intact with their jangling.
“Unhand me, I say!” shouted an irritating voice.
“Magnar of the Savannah Empire,” said a tall half-ogre with auburn hair. “You are under arrest.”
Chapter 10
Two of the mages lifted King Magnar off the ground by the armpits, while the other two stood at the front and back of the trio, as though warding off any potential rescuers. The mage at the front had the same long, auburn hair as Rufus and Niger, tied to his beard in two thick braids. His eyes blazed an alarming shade of gray so pale, they looked white.
I clutched my vials to my chest and hurried after them. “Excuse me?”
The mages all turned to stare. Even King Magnar’s eyes shone with hope.
My throat dried. “Are you one of the Griffon brothers?”
“Albens.” He stepped away from his colleagues, eyes scanning the burgundy piping on my lapel. “I did not see you at this year’s opening ceremony with the other mage cadets. You must be Bluford.”
My face froze. Everyone had seen me as Princess Alba, lighting the ceremonial fire and declaring the Dragon Academy open. But I couldn’t tell him that. “Her Majesty was unwell, and I stayed behind to sit with her.”
His brows rose. “Why do you refer to her by title?”
“Um…” Thanks to an assumption General Thornicroft made on my first week, everybody believed I was one of Aunt Cendrilla’s twin sons. “Phoenix told us to refer to her as such out of respect.”
As three other mages dragged a protesting King Magnar across the lawn, he twisted in their grip and mouthed ‘help.’
I scowled. Why in the Known World would I come to his rescue after everything he had done?
“Good job on facing down the sleeping dragons and finding the eggs!” said Albens. “Is it true you fought a spriggan?”
A shudder ran along my spine. “I didn’t get much of a chance. The sleeping dragons burned it into a pile of ash.”
“Ha!” He gave me a gentle clap on the back. “You will enjoy being a mage. We get all kinds of adventures, but nothing as disturbing as dark fairies.”
Albens and I followed the trio of mages manhandling King Magnar. Now that the treat of a forced marriage had been temporarily vanquished, thoughts of Fyrian crept back into my mind. I tried to concentrate on Albens, who told me he’d just returned from a mission in the Uncharted Continent, a large mass of land in the southern hemisphere of the Known World. Few had ever visited because the winds made it impossible to reach.
“Do they have dragons all the way there?” I asked.
“The inhabitants claim there is a clan of gold dragons terrorizing the lands, but we have never seen them.” He whistled at his companions in front. “We should take the scenic route to General Thornicroft. King Magnar needs to see the anguish he’s caused.”
Trepidation stirred in my belly as we continued down to the terraces, passing sick dragons shivering with pain. Most remained deep in the shadows of their stalls, as though not wanting anyone to see them with transparent scales. Warriors from all around Mount Fornax teamed up with witches to fill troughs with medications.
My heart pounded, and bile rose to the back of my throat. How was Fyrian coping? “When did this happen?”
“Sometime last night, according to the healers.” Albens shook his head. “The healers can only treat the symptoms, because there is no cure for clearscale.”
A group of healers rushed out of a stall. Gusts of black smoke billowed out after them. I hurried my steps, hoping the smoke didn’t contain any venom. “How many dragons are affected?”
“All adults and dragonets. The hatchlings and sleeping dragons are fine, but they have their own enclosures.”
“Is anyone investigating the cause?”
An angry breath escaped his nostrils, and he glowered in the direction of King Magnar. “Dr. Duclair has a team analyzing samples in a laboratory, but she did say it was no act of nature.”
We hurried to Fyrian’s stall, and I spotted a hooded figure standing behind a pair of healers handing out flasks of medicine to some grooms. My heart accelerated into action. It was Master Jesper. What was it doing so close to Fyrian?
Words tumbled out of my mouth. “I think someone put the disease into the largomorphus rex.”
“The what?” asked Albens.
“It’s a giant rabbit created in Tundra that doesn’t eat food. A few wagons-full arrived days ago.”
He furrowed his brow. “How can such a creature exist?”
“Apparently, it eats the algae that turns snow pink,” I replied.
“There is no such thing as pink snow.”
I shrugged. “That’s what I thought, too. Anyway, when Master Jesper let one of the rabbits out of its wagon, a black dragon swooped down and ate it.” I paused, breathing hard to stave off my anger. “And that was the first dragon to develop clearscale.”
Albens stopped, pale eyes widening. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Fyrian was at the class. She knew that dragon and said her name was Pruna Splendor.”
His gaze wandered to the troll towering over the witches, who shouted at it to go away. “Is that Master Jesper?”
“That’s right.”
“Why is it holding the staff of a witch?”
“Master Jesper developed the technology used to drain witch magic.”
Albens growled and unsheathed a sword. “General Thornicroft will be interested in speaking to the troll.”
I chewed my lip. Normally, I’d feel bad for getting someone into trouble with an armed and angry half-ogre, but Master Jesper was definitely up to something. If the troll hadn’t caused the plague, then it was definitely trying to run experiments on vulnerable dragons.
A low moan rumbled from within a stall. Then a pink snout emerged, belonging to the dragon who used to have seaweed-colored scales. I reached out to give him a reassuring pat but Albens pulled back my hand. “Until we know what is causing the plague, I suggest you do not touch the dragons.”
I glanced at the rack of vials under my arm and sighed. “You’re right. Even though I’m sure the disease was spread by a fairy curse or the largomorphus rex, nobody really knows.”
The seaweed-colored dragon stared back at me through sad, watery eyes and released a long, rusty moan.
A pang of sympathy lanced my heart. “How could anybody cause such deliberate suffering?”
“That is wh
at we wish to discover.” He stalked toward Jesper and asked it, “Can I help you?”
The troll turned to Albens and smiled. “I believe you could. This is a fascinating condition, and I’d like to collect the blood samples and scales of the affected.”
“To what end?” he growled.
“Why, to study the progression of the plague!” The troll spread its arms wide, and Albens’ gaze tracked the movement of its staff. “How fascinating it is that a condition afflicting lower reptiles would mutate to affect dragons.”
I cringed. Such enthusiastic talk in the face of others’ suffering made Master Jesper seem even more villainous.
“Indeed?” Albens rumbled.
Master Jesper gave an enthusiastic nod. “Will you please convince these witches to give me the samples?”
“General Thornicroft is in charge of Mount Fornax while the dragons are indisposed.” Albens stroked his fingers over his left braid. “I am going to see him now. Come with me.”
Jesper grinned. “That’s wonderful news. Thank you, kindly!”
The troll clomped down the terraces beside Albens, chatting excitedly about plagues it had developed to smite enemies of the Snow Queen. I didn’t follow. Not just because I wanted to check on Fyrian, but the unease swirling in my belly made me question my actions. Master Jesper probably hadn’t infected the dragons with clearscale. Like Rufus had said, a being that intelligent wouldn’t stay around to get caught, and it definitely wouldn’t boast about its track record of creating diseases.
I ran a hand through my hair and blew out a long breath. At this point, Fyrian would probably explain that some people wanted acknowledgment for their intelligence.
A pained rumble echoed from the chamber on my right.
I turned back to the seaweed dragon. “They’re looking for a way to cure you. Hold on a bit longer. It will be all right.”
He dipped his head a fraction, acknowledging my words with a nod.
I couldn’t hold off my desire to see Fyrian any longer, and I gave the dragon a little wave. The magic dampening potion had dulled our connection to the point where I couldn’t get any feeling from Fyrian. I hoped it was because she slept. I picked up my pace, heart thrumming with anticipation. Would she be in as much pain as the other dragons? Or confused about my disappearance at the other end of our bond?
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