“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
I gave Niger a thumbs up. “We need Evolene to come down and lift Stafford out of the pit. If you can ask one of the masters, they can tell her what’s happened.”
“All right. I saw Roopal this morning. I’ll tell him.” She sent me a visual of herself soaring over a small lake and toward the waterfalls of Mount Fornax.
“What did she say?” asked Niger.
“She’s going to get help.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Fyrian.”
“Let’s go back and see if he’s woken up.” I pulled myself to my feet and walked toward the pit, making sure to keep to solid ground. About ten feet away from the pit, thin twigs cracked under the soles of my boots. I stopped and shouted, “Stafford?”
The ground trembled beneath my feet. My stomach dropped. I was nowhere near the pit! Before I could stumble back, strong arms hoisted me off the ground, spun me around and set me back onto the roots of the tree.
“Oh! Thank you.”
Niger’s hand remained on my waist. “Be careful. The ground is treacherous and likely enchanted.”
My gaze flickered up to his obsidian eyes. They stared at me with such intensity, I wondered if he was trying to see through my glamor. “Y-yes… I’ll pay better attention.”
Silence stretched out between us, filled only by the steady thrum of my heart. I didn’t dare look into his eyes again. It was one thing to hold the stare of males like Father and General Thornicroft. They mostly wanted to intimidate me into blurting out the truth about some misdemeanor or another. Niger was different. He actually seemed interested in me as a person. And if I was honest with myself, I was interested back.
“Why do you disguise yourself when you have the power of a mage?” he asked.
My skin itched, and the beginnings of the damsel denial magic stirred in my chest. It was about to punish me for saying I’d run away and disguised myself to avoid marrying King Magnar. I cleared my throat. “Father and I had a disagreement. I wished to escape the decision he made for my future.”
He was about to ask something. Probably about the nature of our disagreement. A conversation like that would likely lead to me writhing in pain—something I couldn’t afford when Stafford desperately needed my help. I stepped back toward the tree trunk. Instead of hitting wood, I tumbled down what felt like a staircase.
“Bluford!” Niger rushed down the stairs after me.
“Alba!” cried Fyrian.
A stone wall broke my fall. It belonged to a landing of some sort, which led to another set of downward stairs. I placed my hands over my aching head. “Huh… I suppose we’ve found the entrance to their secret hideout.”
He crouched beside me, face a mask of concern. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a few bumps.” I pushed my palm on the wall, using it as leverage to stand.
Niger grabbed my arm and pulled me up. “Here.”
“Umm…” I splayed my arms out for balance. “Thanks.”
“Do you need me to carry you down the rest of the stairs?”
My cheeks flamed. Two unfortunate accidents and he already thought I was a damsel in distress. Anyone could lean against a tree trunk with an invisible door and fall through the other end, but I suppose what happened with King Magnar the day before had been an inexcusable disaster. It was hard to be annoyed, as he was only trying to help.
I shook my head. “It’s fine.”
“Then allow me to go first.” He raised his fist and set it alight, illuminating a staircase that twisted and turned at every landing.
Rolling my shoulders, I followed him down. That tumble had been more embarrassing than painful, and I hoped I could do something heroic to make up for falling down the stairs.
“Are you all right?” asked Fyrian.
“I’ll live.”
“Why do you care so much about what he thinks when you have Magnar?” she asked.
Because it would take an entire vat of loyalty elixir for me to look favorably on that wretch. I hid that thought behind the barrier General Thornicroft had helped me form in my mind and told Fyrian, “I barely know King Magnar, and most of our encounters have been unpleasant.”
I continued down the stairs behind Niger, grimacing each time he turned around to check that I hadn’t collapsed. If Master Jesper hadn’t revealed my true scent, he would probably have given me a hard clap on the back and laughed at my pratfall. Now he acted like I was some kind of delicate princess.
“Did you speak to Master Roopal?” I asked.
“He wasn’t very happy with me because I interrupted his conversation with Magnar,” she replied. “But he’s sending someone down.”
I furrowed my brow. Why not Evolene? All the witches had eaten the poisoned compote and were all under the effects of the plague. Knowing my luck, it would be Roseate who arrived with her garish, pink hair and ghastly attitude.
“Watch your step.” At the end of the stairs, Niger opened a door that led to a room blackened by fire.
I groaned. “The librarian already destroyed everything.”
“Stay at the door while I check for traps.” Niger stepped into the room holding out two flaming palms and looking from left to right.
“You don’t have to keep protecting me.”
“Let me worry about that.” He glanced over his shoulder and flashed me a grin so roguish, all protests dried up in my throat.
I huffed. “Fine, but I can take care of myself, you know.”
“Of course,” he replied in a tone that meant otherwise. “Unsheathe your parched sword.”
I unhooked it from my belt. “Why?”
“We need your long-reaching flames to scour the room for magic.”
“Oh.” I thought back at the lattice of fire General Thornicroft had taught me to make during my first dragon quest. “What if we both covered the room with a grid? That would be faster than swinging my blade.”
He stopped in his tracks, turned around, and stepped toward me. “Are you suggesting we combine magic?”
“Um…” General Thornicroft hadn’t given me the impression that connecting our flames was anything significant but doing it in a dragon quest wasn’t the same as doing it in real life. Swallowing hard, I rocked back on my heels. “What’s wrong with that?”
His cheekbones pinked, and his lips curved into a smile. “It is a rather deep connection that we only reserve for our closest of comrades.”
My throat dried. “I-I’m not that practiced with the grid anyway. M-maybe I should use the parched sword.”
He inclined his head.
“What are we looking out for?” I asked.
“Subtle changes in the flame. Has General Thornicroft taught you flame types yet?” When I shook my head, he continued. “Just sweep your flame from left to right. I will check for any changes.”
I extended the sword’s flame and swept it across the darkened room as he directed. It just looked like the usual stream of orange fire to me. “I didn’t know a mage’s flames could be sensitive to magic.”
“It is not as effective as a witch’s detection spell and mostly too time-consuming to be worthwhile.” He glanced ahead into the flames as I swept them across the room. “There are no traps so far.”
We continued like this for several minutes until we cleared the chamber and entered a narrow hallway. A groan echoed ahead.
I cut off my flame. “Stafford?”
“Albert?” his words were slurred.
My heart leaped, and I charged ahead to meet my friend, only for Niger to grab my arm. “Careful. We must check the hallway for traps. There is no Evolene or Master Jesper to shield us from an explosion.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. That had been reckless of me. “Right… Sorry.”
It took an eternity of waving my flaming sword and having Niger analyze the fire to travel the hallway and reach Stafford. He sat against the wall, eyes half-lidded, legs outstretched, and clutching a burlap sack. Even in the imperf
ect light, it was clear he was in a lot of pain. His skin was deathly pale and glistening with sweat.
I slid onto my knees at his side. “Are you hurt?”
“I bashed my head, but I’m fine.” He winced. “Though I might have broken my ankle.”
“You are lucky,” said Niger. “If you had fallen on your head, that drop would have killed you.”
A pained laugh huffed from Stafford’s chest, making him grimace. “The number of times I fell out of trees and off the roof at the orphanage, I’ve learned to fall better.”
My gaze drifted to his twisted ankle, and my insides writhed with sympathy for my best friend. Poor Stafford didn’t seem lucky to me.
“What do you have there?” asked Niger.
Stafford opened one eye for a second. “Huh?”
“The sack.”
“It was attached to the wall,” Stafford replied, eyes still closed. “I grabbed it on the way down. There’s some stairs on the left. You two should take a look while we’re down here.”
I eased the sack out of Stafford’s grip and pulled it open to find a few rolled parchments. I exhaled a long, disappointed breath. None of them looked like they’d been ripped out of the leather tome.
“Let me see.” Niger reached into the sack, pulled out the largest one, and unrolled it. “This is a map of the underground passages of Mount Fornax.”
“H-hello!” shouted a female voice.
I raised my head. The pale face staring down was so far away, I couldn’t make out her features. “Evolene?”
“I heard Stafford was hurt.”
“Evolene,” mumbled Stafford.
“He might have broken his ankle,” I shouted. “Can you lift him up?”
“I brought one of the healers.”
A male voice shouted from above, and he asked a series of questions about Stafford’s condition. Then Evolene lowered a vial of pain elixir which she said would make Stafford’s journey to the Healer’s Academy more comfortable. I uncorked it and brought the vial to his lips.
As soon as Stafford finished the elixir, his face relaxed, and he stared up at me with bright, hazel eyes. “Let me know what you find down the stairs.”
I smiled and ruffled his caramel hair. “Of course. If the librarian isn’t down there, you can join us on the search tomorrow when they’ve healed your ankle.”
“Thanks, Albert.”
“What for?”
“For being the best friend ever.” Stafford’s eyes fell closed, and his head drooped onto his chest.
Warmth filled my chest. A mere month ago, my only friend was Mother, and she’d left for the realm of the fairies. I gave Stafford a squeeze on the shoulder goodbye. “He’s ready!”
Another item floated down. Some kind of leather harness which the healer said I needed to wrap around Stafford. I held the straps, ready to follow the healer’s instructions when Niger pulled them from my grip. “Allow me.”
“I can do it.”
He coughed. “It would not be proper.”
My eyes widened. He was referring to the close contact I would have with Stafford’s person. I stepped back and let him wrap Stafford’s slumbering form.
“Cadets Bluford and Griffon, do you need assistance in leaving the pit?” asked the male healer.
“We’re fine,” I shouted back. “There’s a staircase.” Besides, we still needed to explore the rest of this underground building.
Once Stafford had been safely lifted out, we examined the rest of the scrolls. They contained information other alchemists had gathered about fairy hybrids. One of the scrolls outlined the capture and torture of an imp—a human-fairy hybrid. According to the notes, the creature had been susceptible to fairy iron.
“This one is about Her Majesty,” said Niger.
“What?” I let the scroll I was reading roll closed. “Was she captured?”
His brows drew together. “Yes. Although the alchemist who took her died under mysterious circumstances.”
I stood next to him and peered at the scroll. It contained an illustration of Aunt Cendrilla holding a staff and wearing a leather bodice and flowing battle-skirt. “It says she was a student of the Anti-Magic Academy. Why would she join such a place?”
“Before Her Majesty married King Armin, the United Kingdom of Seven’s laws allowed the slaughter of magical beings upon sight. I expect she infiltrated it to destroy their corrupt policies.”
My brows drew together. “Did she get hurt?”
“It does not say.” He rolled up the scroll and headed toward the end of the hallway. “We can study these later.”
With a nod, I followed him. “Let’s go and explore.”
Cool, damp air greeted us at the top of the staircase, a spiral structure carved out of sandstone.
Niger sniffed. “I smell a large quantity of rainwater.”
“Really?” My fingertips rested on the cool, damp wall. I’d never been so deep underground, so didn’t know what kind of atmosphere to expect.
Our footsteps echoed on each downward step, mingling with the faint sound of dripping water. Perhaps the alchemists had siphoned some of the lake and placed it into a leaky tank. They certainly needed a large quantity of water to create all those elixirs and homunculi.
At the bottom of the stairs was what I could only describe as a cavern that stretched out like a roadway. I stepped off the staircase, and my boots sank into cool, damp sand.
Niger lowered his flaming fist to the sand. “Footprints.”
“Can you smell anyone?”
“A human and… a wolf?”
I glanced ahead and found a set of massive paw prints amid the footprints and ground. “At least we know what happened to the twelfth glacier wolf.”
Niger snarled. “According to the map, one of the passages stretches out beyond the wards.”
My stomach plummeted. “And I’ll bet the librarian took the antidote with him.”
We stared into each other’s eyes, Niger looking as stricken as I felt. While Master Jesper had the formula for the loyalty potion and would eventually create an antidote, it would likely not happen before King Magnar had recruited every dragon, witch, and warrior to fight his war.
I swallowed back a lump in my throat. King Magnar would lose and get everyone killed or captured. The spriggans had the might of the Savannah Empire army, an array of magical armor and dark artifacts. After our encounter with just one spriggan at the border, I could well believe its boast of having perfected ways to capture dragons.
“What are we going to do?” asked Niger.
“I-I’ll contact the palace and see if I can get help.”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
When we reached the top of the stairs, Niger’s older brother, Albens stood in the doorway with a dozen newly awakened warriors. He gave Niger a brief nod of acknowledgment and turned his attention to me. “Cadet Bluford, King Magnar orders your immediate presence.”
Chapter 6
I backed away into the stairwell. A futile effort, considering the warriors standing in the doorway of the tree trunk were a mix of fully-qualified mages clad in burgundy armor and riders clad in red. Most of them were half-ogres like Niger and Albens, each carrying at least one sword on their belts. And they were all under the influence of the loyalty elixir. Why else would they do the bidding of the man who had stolen dragon eggs and unleashed locusts into Mount Fornax?
Raising my chin, I announced, “An alchemist abducted King Magnar yesterday, and we believe he escaped using this route. He must be brought to justice.”
“We will take care of the search,” said Albens. Like all the Griffon brothers, his long, auburn hair flowed past his shoulders. He’d styled it into two neat braids woven into his beard. While Niger’s eyes were as dark as Mother’s, Albens’ were a startling shade of white. He pointed at the sack. “What do you have there?”
“Papers,” I replied.
“On what?”
Niger stepped in front of me. “Al, we
are in the middle of something. Can this wait?”
Albens brushed his brother aside. “It cannot. Cadet Bluford is to see King Magnar immediately.”
Niger shoved back. “No—”
I placed a hand on Niger’s bicep. “Let’s not argue with them. This isn’t their fault.”
Niger glanced over his shoulder, his lips forming a tight line. “I am coming with you.”
“Request denied,” said Albens. “Until classes restart, you are to help Master Jesper produce its alkahest elixir.”
Two riders clad in red uniforms grabbed Niger by the arms and marched him out of the tree trunk and through the Dead Wood. He struggled in their grips, but the pair held firm. Once the trio rounded a thick tree, I lost sight of them.
Albens flicked his head, indicating for the two mages at his side to seize me. Huge hands wrapped around my arms, and I sighed. There was no point in resisting. I’d only wear myself out and have no energy to face the real enemy: King Magnar.
Albens led the way through the Dead Wood, which had now turned into a gloomy expanse of dried leaves amid trunks thick enough to hide any manner of danger. I stared down at my feet until we stepped out into the sun.
When I raised my head, it was to find Fyrian sitting close to the mountainside, curiosity shining in her crimson eyes.
“Why didn’t you warn me they were coming for us?” I asked.
She straightened. “I told Roopal that Stafford might be dead. He told Magnar—”
My eyes bulged. “Wait. King Magnar was with Master Roopal?”
“I’’m sure I told you this before.”
Running my fingers through my hair, I exhaled a long, tired breath. “Probably. I was too caught up with worrying about Stafford to notice. Sorry.”
“Anyway, there was a special Council of Dragons meeting in Fosco’s office. He thinks you vandalized it, by the way.”
I groaned. Fyrian had been suffering from the plague and confined behind magical runes to block our connection. She had missed the attack of the homunculi’s explosives and couldn’t have explained what had happened even if she’d wanted.
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