“I think we’re getting to the nest of King Hornets,” I muttered.
Master Jesper raised its staff. “All insects are now asleep.”
“Thank you,” The words escaped me in a long whoosh.
Moments later, we reached the hornet’s nest. This one was different from the sphere I’d encountered on my first week. It stretched from ceiling to floor like a column and seemed to be made of a wood pulp substance that dribbled down like melted candle wax. A number of fallen hornets crunched under my cushion of air, releasing the scent of burned pollen. I cringed at the thought of their little exoskeletons, spindly appendages and goo sticking to the soles of my feet.
Outside, on the terrace, warm winds carried the sweet, sharp scent of oncoming rain. It mingled with the menthol from the long stems of dragon mint, and the cat in my arms made a rumbling purr of approval. I glanced up at the thick gray clouds, which hung low enough in the sky to pluck.
“What do you think has happened with the clouds?” I asked.
“The witches maintaining the weather probably made a mistake while they were ill,” said Evolene.
“Or they miscast, and all the groundwater has risen to the air,” muttered Master Jesper. “I hope I’m wrong, as I have few solutions for drought.”
I groaned and clutched the flying cat closer. Why had I asked? We still hadn’t recovered from the locust attacks, and I wasn’t sure if we would be able to collect the samples before the homunculi noticed us and attacked.
We activated a stair stone and ascended to the surface. After walking under the canopy of trees bordering the edge of the mountain, I found the spot Phoenix had activated and I pressed the cat’s paws onto the wall.
Nothing happened.
Master Jesper hummed. “I wonder if the witches have shut down the wards.”
“They’ve locked themselves in?” I asked.
“Madam Maritimus might have worked out by now that the plague is an attack against Mount Fornax,” said Evolene. “Since most people are in the Healer’s Academy, they’d want to keep everyone safe from attackers.”
The pounding in my head returned. I hoped she was wrong. “So, we are to expect traps?”
Evolene raised her shoulders. “I hope not.”
I rubbed the cat’s stomach. “Maybe dragon fire will make the wards open?”
“Can you try your Parched Sword?” asked Evolene.
It took a moment to unsheathe the weapon, and I pushed as much power as I could into the hilt. Orange flames sprang across the blade, and I pressed them to the sandstone wall, but it didn’t have any effect. “My connection to Fyrian is mostly blocked by the runes in her stall. It looks like I can only produce my own flames.”
I gave the cat a little pat on the backside. “Can you blow some fire on the wall, please?”
“Here.” Master Jesper snatched the little creature from my arms. “A happy, fire-breathing cat won’t produce the required firepower.”
I lurched forward to snatch the cat back, but Evolene held my arm. “Let’s wait and see what happens.”
The troll tugged on the cat’s tail, and it opened its jaws and spat out a gust of flame and leaped into the skies. “I do apologize for the brutality.”
A hole opened up and spread across the wall, and we all stepped through.
The interior of the Healer’s Academy was silent. The overfilled rooms of sleeping warriors and the occasional witch strewn on the ground were the only indication that something terrible had happened. Evolene and I wanted to move the witches to beds, but Master Jesper reminded us that the homunculi would be watching for anomalies like people disappearing from the hallways.
“Is everybody sick?” I whispered.
“It would seem so,” replied Master Jesper. “Fascinating, isn’t it, that we are the three left standing?”
“And the master of the homuculus,” I muttered.
“An excellent point,” it replied. “I wager that a plague of this magnitude would take time to fabricate. Months, perhaps even years. The culprit did not account for the existence of a troll or a fairy hybrid being on the premises.”
I rubbed my temples. “How do you explain Evolene, then?”
“I’m just a quarter-ogre… nothing special,” she said.
“That’s the remarkable part!” Master Jesper beamed. “Somehow, you have avoided the means by which the disease was transmitted.”
Her eyes glistened with excitement. “How?”
“Until we conduct our investigation, we will not know.”
Master Jesper grabbed us both and pushed us into its cloak. I struggled in its grip, and the troll hissed, “Homunculus!”
My heart accelerated into action. How had that thing gotten into the Healing Academy? I peeked out from a tiny gap in the troll’s cloak.
A figure stepped out from around the corner, clad in a cloak of blackened sackcloth. On its head stood a few coarse, scraggly hairs. The rest of its face consisted of a semi-transparent leather devoid of eyes, ears, a nose and mouth. It swept a witch’s staff across the floors like a broom, swinging white magic from left to right.
I held my breath, hoping Master Jesper’s cloak would muffle the enchantment. As it passed, a whiff of strong urine burned my sinuses. My eyes watered, and bile rose to the back of my throat. How in the Known World could someone create a being so grotesque?
We all froze, waiting for the homunculus to round the corner. When it did, the three of us exhaled and stepped away from each other.
Evolene gulped. “I-I’ll show you to where they keep the samples.”
The laboratory was a bare-walled basement room with shelves of vials positioned behind a magical barrier. Master Jesper stepped into the room and rubbed its hands, leaving Evolene to transport General Thornicroft.
The troll darted around a large, stone table positioned in the middle of the room to view the materials on the shelves.
“Is this what you need?” asked Evolene.
“All that’s required now is a bed and some pain killing elixirs for Cadet Bluford.”
“But I’m fine—”
The troll raised a hand. “I can see the blood vessels beneath your skin. It’s clear to me that you’re having a resurgence of your dragon’s clearscale symptoms.”
“I can find the runebook,” said Evolene.
I shook my head. “If you two can focus on the cure, then Fyrian’s symptoms won’t leak through the bond.”
Master Jesper selected four racks of blood and placed them on the table. It placed a drop of blood on the surface of the stone and bathed it with orange magic. It exploded into a mass of alchemical symbols.
“Cadet Bluford is right. The cure is our priority.” The troll turned its attention to me. “Rest for now. At a later point, I’ll need you to gather ingredients to create an antidote.”
I squeezed my eyes shut against a new wave of pain crashing against my bones. “A-all right.”
“Madam Evolene, I will need your assistance in unraveling the foreign substances in these blood samples. But first, please transmute one of the stools under the table into a bed and provide Cadet Bluford with something to ease the pain.”
Evolene levitated the stool, placed it into the corner of the room, and transformed it into a hospital cot. Then she opened the doors of a wooden cupboard and produced a vial of willow tree tincture.
I lowered myself into the soft bed with a sigh. When she handed me the tincture, I drank it in one swallow. It filled my sinuses with the scent of leaves and forest streams, washing away the pain as it swooshed down my throat.
A grateful sigh burst from my lips. “Thank—”
Sleep claimed me before I could finish my sentence.
I stood in the practice room of our mansion in Mount Bluebeard, watching Mother teach a ten-year-old version of myself how to thrust and parry with a practice sword. Her hair danced over her shoulders in a cascade of dark mahogany curls, and her obsidian eyes sparkled with joy.
As usual, sh
e wore an outfit of a fitted doublet and breeches tucked into calf-length boots. I tilted my head to the side. Apart from the dark hair and eyes, there really wasn’t much difference between Mother and Aunt Cendrilla. They both had the same curvy, athletic figures, same regal features, and the same full-lipped smile.
Looking at Mother’s graceful sword dance, it was hard to see why Father couldn’t stay in love with her.
My younger self swung her sword around to block Mother’s strike. “Aha!”
“That’s it,” she said. “Now, step back and keep your guard up.”
She followed Mother’s instructions. It was clear to anyone that Mother’s strikes were soft to demonstrate technique to a young child.
“Good!” Mother chuckled. “Now put more force behind it, and I’ll hit harder.”
“A-all right!” My younger self widened her stance, just as Mother demonstrated, and the sparring continued.
A shadow fell across the room, and I glared at the interloper. Father stood at the doorway, still dressed in the official navy blue jacket of the Noble House of Bluebeard. A red sash, emblazoned with the royal crest, hung from shoulder to waist.
“You are too soft,” he snarled.
“I’m teaching my ten-year-old daughter proper sword technique. Once she’s mastered the basics, we can cover dueling.”
“Do you think an enemy will be soft on her because she’s only ten? At that age, I had already defeated half a dozen full ogres.”
She smirked. “Yes, and you were also being tricked by fairies, if memory serves.”
“That was twelve.”
Mother sashayed across the room with a hand on her hip. She tilted her head to the side, curving her lips. “My mistake. You’re still as handsome as the day we met. I get confused.”
He stepped around her. “Do not distract me.”
Mother held his arm, but he brushed her aside and continued walking until he stopped at my wide-eyed younger self. “Show me what you have learned.”
“She’s too small to spar with you,” said Mother.
“Silence,” he replied in a voice that reminded me of General Thornicroft.
Mother rolled her eyes and folded her hands across her chest.
The Sword of Lightning lay on the sword belt, over Father’s right hip, but he reached for the scimitar on his left.
Mother jabbed him hard in the back with her wooden sword. “If you insist on dueling a small child, use wood, not metal!”
He grunted and snatched the practice sword from her grip.
I stepped away from the wall and frowned. Why had she given into him so easily? Aunt Cendrilla would never have backed down, but then, she was one of the most powerful beings in the Known World. Mother only had her sword skills and her ability to turn into a bluebird.
The younger version of myself quaked on her feet, holding the sword like a shield. This particular incident had resulted in him leaving in disgust at my lack of swordsmanship and had left me feeling unworthy of his love until he returned months later.
Unsheathing my Parched Sword, I stepped around my younger self and looked Father in the eyes. This was my opportunity to defeat him in a dream quest. With my chin raised, I said, “I’ll duel you.”
The corner of his lip curled into a smile. “You can try.”
Instead of waiting for him to make the first move, I pushed my magic through the sword and swung at his throat. Fire blazed across the blade, searing off his blue beard.
He jumped back, eyes wide. “What manner of weapon is this?”
I cut off my power and lurched forward, thrusting the tip of my blade at his jugular. “You should be fighting back, not grunting out exclamations.”
Mother snorted from where she stood with her arm around my younger self.
Father shot her a filthy look. I swung low and sliced off the ridiculous, red sash. It fluttered to the floor, and I smirked.
Father’s head snapped back, the cold fury of his glower chilling me to the bone. “You would attack a man while his guard is down?”
“Do you think an enemy would be soft on you because you’re not ready?” I mimicked his gravelly voice. If he had time to glare at Mother, he didn’t see me as a threat.
His brows rose. Then his eyes sharpened, and realization hardened his features. The harsh set of his jaw said he was about to take me seriously. Father threw aside the practice sword and unsheathed the scimitar on his left hip.
I glanced at the Sword of Lightning. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”
“Doubtful.”
“Don’t complain when the witches can’t put you back together.” My grip tightened around the Parched Sword. He would strike soon, and hard.
Father’s face split into a feral grin. With inhuman speed, he lunged. My stomach dropped, and I stepped back, sword flying up to block.
He grunted. “I was too hasty in throwing aside the wooden sword. You are weak.”
Anger seared my cheeks. I brought my sword up, aiming to cleave him in half. “S-shut up!”
Father laughed, delivering an overhead strike. I blocked with a double-handed swing. The blow was as hard and heavy as King Magnar in his brutish form, and I clenched my teeth, bending my knees to absorb the impact.
He stepped forward, an arrogant smirk on his lips, and I kicked out at his knee.
“Where is your honor?” he snarled.
“There’s no honor in a ruleless duel.” It was one of his favorite phrases.
Our swords met with a clang that vibrated my bones. He glared into my eyes, but I held his gaze with a glower as heated as his was cold. “Why did you come here,” I said between gritted teeth. “To pick a fight so you could feel less guilty about leaving us?”
A deep groove appeared between his brows. “What?”
“Because it looked like you expected a ten-year-old girl to fight on an equal footing with you.” I pushed my power into the Parched Sword, setting its blade alight.
He flinched. “You would presume to—”
“Of course not! You expected Mother to intervene, giving you the excuse you needed to go straight to the palace with a story about wicked, unreasonable Paloma, denying you access to your child.”
“How dare you…” He snarled.
“Question my neglectful father?”
He shoved me away and slashed at my throat. I blocked, pushing more magic into my blade. The flame blazed an incandescent blue so hot, I had to lean back. Father’s scimitar melted to liquid, and he dropped his sword arm.
The scene crumbled, and I plummeted into the clearing.
I sat up with a gasp, and my eyes snapped open to meet Evolene bent above me.
She scrambled back, cheeks flushed with excitement. “We’ve uncovered the cause of the plague. It wasn’t a disease after all!”
Chapter 16
Yawning, I stretched out my arms and blinked a few times to clear my mind. That dream had been disturbing. I would never have spoken to Father like that in real life. Or attacked him so viciously. The dream-horn in my inside pocket glowed with warmth, and I gave it a gentle pat. Maybe defeating Father would repair enough damage to my mind, so I wouldn’t have to face that awful incident in the clearing with the alchemists.
Evolene stood before me, eyes sparkling, hands clasped. She bounced on the balls on her feet, brows raised as though expecting some kind of reply. Behind her, in the far end of the laboratory, Master Jesper scribbled something on a wall covered with alchemical symbols.
“Sorry, Evolene,” I said. “What did you say?”
“The plague isn’t actually a disease. It’s just as Master Jesper thought!”
“Wait.” I rubbed my eyes. “What is it, then?”
Evolene grinned. “We found traces of certain elixirs in each group. You know how a potion can affect one species and not harm another?”
I shrugged. “Like dragonsbane?”
“Yes!” she beamed. “Master Jesper made a chart, looking at what each elixir d
id to each species. They’re different, but they create the same symptoms!”
I ran a hand through my dark blonde hair and yawned. “You’re going too fast. What’s this about elixirs?”
Master Jesper stepped away from the whiteboard. “In Madam Evolene’s excitement, she forgot to disclose the most important fact.”
“What’s that?”
“Underneath the falsified symptoms are separate elixirs all designed to do the same thing.” Master Jesper paused, stretching out the silence until my posture slumped with impatience. “Everything was designed to mask loyalty elixirs keyed to a singular individual.”
“Who?”
The troll raised its brows. “Who indeed?”
Realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I shot out of the bed, clenched my fists, and growled, “King Magnar.”
Master Jesper raised its massive shoulders. “All anecdotal evidence points towards him.”
Evolene pulled me down to the bed and made me sit. She walked across to the wooden cupboard and pulled out two vials, one viridian green, and the other the exact shade of ripe lemons. “You said Fyrian was worried about King Magnar.”
“Yes, she was. And the masters were kind to him during his interrogation.”
Master Jesper scratched its head. “Judging by the degradation of the elixirs in the samples of dragon’s blood, I conclude that the dragons received their doses first.”
“Then the warriors, I suppose,” I said. “Did one of their blood samples contain ogrebane?”
“It did.” The troll crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed. This time, the fear and suspicion that hit my gut at its proximity vanished. “Queen Cendrilla is immune to the substance because of her fairy blood. May I assume you are the same?”
“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes and exhaled. Whoever did this had to be at the same level as Master Jesper in alchemy. They’d created homunculi to assassinate the troll, and had orchestrated a massive fraud, just so they could create an army of strong minions.
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