Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  Stafford rushed forward. “Evolene!”

  She sniffled. “D-don’t look at me.”

  “Are they treating you all right?” I knelt in front of her cell.

  “I-I’ve only just got here,” she replied.

  Stafford and I exchanged confused looks. I cleared my throat. “They took you away a day ago. Have you been in an enchanted sleep?”

  “I…” She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “What have you done to her?” I asked the silver-haired lieutenant.

  The witch raised an hourglass. “Seven minutes.”

  “Please, don’t lose hope,” I said, scrambling about for something positive and hopeful to tell her. “W-we can get witnesses together to explain to the Witch General that you weren’t really consorting with Master Jesper. You just did what you could to save Mount Fornax.”

  Stafford nodded. “They’ll know that if it wasn’t for you, the dragons would have been enslaved and captured by the spriggans to raise the Forgotten King. You deserve a medal, not punishment!”

  Evolene clasped her hands and shook her head. “One good act doesn’t outweigh a lifetime of crimes. M-maybe this is me finally getting what I deserve.”

  “That wasn’t you.” I swallowed hard. “It was your father.”

  “I’ll meet him soon enough and confront him.”

  A crack formed in my heart. Why was she saying such morbid things? The worse that would happen was a flogging or some kind of restriction on her magic. They would probably take away her full-sized staff, but we just had to ask people to approach the Witch General and ask her to change her mind.

  “What are you saying?” Stafford croaked.

  “I was never found innocent of the crimes I committed with my father. The Witch General will make me face the punishment I was due.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You can’t think like that. I’ll—”

  “Time’s up,” said a sneering voice from behind.

  Before I could protest, white magic flashed, and a blink of an eye later, I found myself sitting next to Stafford on the floor of the Fornax Flying Float.

  Stafford curled into himself and rested his head on his thighs. “They didn’t even give us a chance to say goodbye!”

  My chest tightened. “Poor Evolene.”

  I raised my head toward the driver’s section of the float. Roseate had already erected a solid barrier, no doubt to avoid my wrath at having wasted our time by chatting with the lieutenants.

  My hands balled into fists. How I longed to rearrange her smug face! Most witches were weaklings without their staffs. It would only be a matter of separating her from her weapon and making sure she didn’t have a smaller one hidden within her person.

  “Don’t do it,” said Fyrian.

  “Why not? She deserves it!”

  “If you’d been perched on Auntie Rilla’s throne all those times people made complaints about witches, you’d understand.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Nobody harms a witch and gets away with it,” said Fyrian. “They stick together. Beat one up, and other witches are obliged to avenge the slight against witch-kind.”

  “She can’t get away with what she did!”

  “That’s why you’ll leave her to Madam Maritimus. Let the witches punish their own.”

  A hot, angry breath rushed out of my flared nostrils. Fyrian was right, of course, but I still wanted to punch Roseate in the gut for spoiling our time with Evolene. My poor friend sounded ready for death.

  The magic around the float disappeared, allowing its dragon wings to stretch out. I pulled myself to my feet, dragged Stafford off the floor, and rested him on the seat next to me. “At least she knows we’re fighting for her.”

  He shook his head and moaned, “I’ve never seen anyone look so hopeless.”

  “I know… But we’ll get her out somehow.”

  We sat in silence for the rest of the journey. Fyrian tried to entertain me with the witness testimony of Byrrus, the oxblood-colored dragon who had partnered up with Captain Caiman and had called Fyrian a coward. Apparently, when he realized Captain Caiman hadn’t been selected as a finalist, he had tricked King Magnar into forming a bond by staring into his eyes.

  “Now all the other dragons are calling him Magnar’s Mount! She chuckled into our bond. “He’s the lowest dragon in Mount Fornax.”

  “Won’t he die if King Magnar is executed?”

  “The witches will surround him in runes to block their connection.”

  Despite my despondent mood, I shook my head and managed to smile. I suppose if Roseate had put herself in such a humiliating position, I would be the first to laugh.

  Stafford didn’t talk for the entire journey. I imagined he was deep in thought about how he could save Evolene or regretting not allowing me to speak to the Magistratus on Evolene’s behalf. There was no point in bringing this up. He was already so upset.

  By the time we passed Mount Fornax’s wards, the sun had dipped past the horizon, forming an incandescent glow in the darkening sky. It a reflected gold light across the distant hills. I shook my head. Right now, beautiful sunsets didn’t matter. I needed to give Roseate a piece of my mind, seasoned with a few choice insults.

  The float landed, and the door swung open. I leaped to my feet, balled my fists, and soured my tongue.

  Master Jesper stuck its head through the opening, its face twisted into a wrinkled grimace. “The dragons have finally released me from the trial. Hurry, children, it is time I told you about the plight of poor Madam Evolene!”

  Chapter 9

  All thoughts of reporting Roseate for wasting our time evaporated into smoke as we followed Master Jesper. The troll rushed through the reception courtyard, making Stafford and me have to jog to keep up. Evolene’s morbid comment rolled to the front of my mind. She had mentioned soon being able to confront her dead father.

  I pressed my forearm against my roiling stomach. “What do you know about Evolene?”

  “Come to the laboratory,” replied Master Jesper. “You must see the experiment I set up.”

  I glanced at Stafford, whose eyes gleamed with hope. Perhaps I was over thinking things and Master Jesper had thought up an escape plan. The troll was what we needed: an older, more experienced being who was both on our side and who could wield magic. We cleared the reception courtyard, batting away glowing dragon moths, and ran across the lawn. The Great Lake lay on our left, reflecting the silhouettes of dragons flying in the sapphire sky.

  Fyrian’s presence filled our bond, but she didn’t comment.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “Maybe Master Jesper will make the difference. Evolene needs all the help she can get.”

  It took us forever to reach the Healer’s Academy. A group of mages nursing minor injuries blocked the entrance. According to what I’d overheard, a weapon they had developed had exploded. By the time we reached the laboratory, I was breathless with curiosity and could think of nothing else but Master Jesper’s experiment and how it might free Evolene.

  The troll had arranged the room like a study, with scrolls of differing sizes and shapes strewn across the table. All traces of alchemical notations had vanished off the walls.

  I swallowed hard, ignoring how the membranes of my throat stuck together. “What’s going to happen to Evolene? Do you have a plan to free her?”

  Master Jesper stood at the blank wall and folded its arms. “In the long hours during which we worked together on elixirs, young Madam Evolene told me of the confessions she had made to the Witch General. Things do not look good.”

  “She didn’t tell you anything like that,” said Fyrian.

  “None of that matters.” I shook my head. It was far easier to open up to someone who had committed worse crimes.

  “What do you mean?” said Stafford. “She was innocent.”

  The troll’s wrinkled face twisted, and it gestured at a pair of chairs against the opposite wall.
“Not in the eyes of witches. You are aware of the informal hierarchy of beings in Steppe?”

  With a nod, we both walked over to the chairs and sat. Ogres were at the top, as they were the heads of Noble Houses, who held all the lands and wealth. Until Aunt Cendrilla, every monarch in Steppe had been a full-blooded ogre. Next in the pecking order were witches, created by mating ogresses with human males. Diluting the blood somehow brought out the magic. Half-ogresses controlled elements, such as fire, water, and air. Quarter-ogresses had full control over a wide range of magic.

  Leaning forward, I waited to hear what Master Jesper would say next. Just above beasts of burden and humans were male ogre-hybrids like Father, who traditionally couldn’t wield magic. Aunt Cendrilla changed that, giving males the opportunity to express their latent magic through dragons.

  I licked my dry lips. “What’s Evolene’s status got to do with anything?”

  “She was the witch, and her father the human. Any magic she performed under his coercion to commit crimes is wholly her responsibility.”

  “But that’s not fair,” said Stafford.

  Master Jesper spread its arms wide. “It is the law of the land. She was lucky to have gotten probation from the Witch General.”

  “Did you know that working with her would violate that probation?” I asked.

  Master Jesper lowered itself into a chair and bowed its head. “You must remember that I knew nothing of Madam Evolene’s criminal history until late into our acquaintance. At the time of the trial, it had escaped my mind that the poor young witch was under any scrutiny.”

  I chewed my lip. The troll was right. Nobody could have predicted Evolene’s arrest.

  “Can you help her?” asked Stafford.

  The troll nodded and walked to the furthest end of the laboratory. “If I may, I would like to propose a solution for Madam Evolene. Permanent banishment. I take her into exile, where she will serve a sentence in Tundra for the rest of her natural life.”

  The words hit me like a kick to the gut. “What?”

  “Life imprisonment?” Stafford slid further into his seat.

  Master Jesper raised its palms. “It is the best solution.”

  “All her friends are here in Mount Fornax,” I snapped. “Tundra has nothing to do and nothing to eat. It’s a massive, freezing block of ice with no ogres, no humans, and no witches. There’s just trolls and hags and polar bears!”

  Stafford moaned. “How could you even suggest something so cruel?”

  The troll shuffled over to the table and bent down. “There is something you must see.” It produced a dome of about three feet in height and removed its lid, revealing a snowman squash consisting of three round sections with a smiley face carved at the top. Its eyes glowed as bright as the moon, looking as though it was somehow enchanted.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “What’s that?”

  “This cucurbit has been imbued with as much of my magic as I can spare,” the troll said in clipped tones.

  Stafford rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you turned it into a homunculus?”

  “Such is not possible for those who were never born. This is an avatar.” Master Jesper stepped back. I was about to ask what the troll was trying to do when it reached into its robe and pulled out a collar. “This is a miniaturized extricator, designed to rob beings of their life force and magic.”

  I stiffened. It was very similar to the collar Mr. Bacon had tried to use on me in the burning hut. “W-what are you going to do?”

  “Watch.” Master Jesper unclipped the collar and wrapped it around the snowman squash’s belly. “Do you know the ultimate penalty for delinquent witches?”

  My throat dried. Something terrible happened to witches who committed murders and serious crimes. I’d never seen it, but everyone who joined the Magical Militia knew what would be done to those who abused their power. But Evolene’s situation was different. If her crimes had only warranted probation, talking to Master Jesper should never have earned her the ultimate penalty.

  “W-what is it?” asked Stafford.

  “Do remember how much time I spent as a prisoner in the Magical Militia. I know their workings more than most non-witches and believe me when I say that this is a perfect simulation of what will happen to Madam Evolene.”

  Terror trundled through my inside, leaving deep, worrisome grooves. I didn’t want to watch what would happen to the snowman squash, but every muscle in my body, including those that controlled my eyes, froze. Stafford whimpered and lowered himself further into his seat.

  The troll attached a tube to the collar and reached under the table to produce a glass ball which it attached to the tube. It produced a small staff from within its robes and pointed it at the snowman’s head. “Retributio.”

  White light glowed around the squash, and magic pumped from the collar, down the invisible tube, and into the crystal ball. I kept my eye on the snowman squash. Its eyes, which were once round and glowing, dimmed. The skin shriveled, and fine lines appeared across its surface, which deepened into grooves.

  First, the snowman’s upturned mouth straightened. As more moisture and magic left the squash, its eyes hollowed, and its mouth twisted into a rictus of horror. A shudder ran through my bones, and I tried to turn my head but couldn’t. Within seconds, the squash yellowed, black patches spread across its skin, and it shrank into a husk.

  Every ounce of blood drained from my face, leaving me light-headed.

  “N-no…” Fyrian’s voice echoed through my skull, her despair making my stomach churn.

  “A-are you sure this will happen to Evolene?” I asked.

  “This was the punishment administered when I was a prisoner at the Magical Militia.” Master Jesper’s voice sounded like the barest whisper of stones grinding against each other. “I doubt that General Shipton will be more lenient than her predecessor.”

  Next to me, Stafford shook his head, breathing hard. “We can’t let them do this to her.”

  “Do you see why we must push for her banishment to Tundra?” asked Master Jesper.

  Stafford stood. Determination shone in his eyes, and he squared his shoulders as though waiting for Master Jesper to say something objectionable. “I’ll go with her.”

  My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t realized Stafford’s feelings for Evolene ran so deep.

  The troll inclined its head. “There is little work for male hybrids in Tundra.”

  “As long as Evolene and I are together, we’ll be happy.”

  My brows furrowed. The last time I had spoken to Evolene about Stafford, she wasn’t completely sure of how she felt about him. Although things had progressed between the pair and they seemed a lot closer, I wasn’t sure she would want him to throw away his prospects. Without the Dragon Mage Academy, Stafford would be a penniless ogre-hybrid, only fit for agricultural work and breeding witches.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked. “Evolene might prefer you to—”

  “I know what I’m doing.” He raised his palm.

  My spirits slumped. When Stafford was in this kind of mood, it was difficult to change his mind. I stood and pulled up my sleeves. “There’s only one thing left to do.”

  “Cadet Bluford?” Master Jesper replaced the lid on the remains of the snowman squash and slipped the glowing ball of magic into its pocket.

  With a sharp nod, I said, “I’m going to petition the Magistratus.”

  Stafford gasped. “But we agreed—”

  “You agreed not to speak to him about Evolene. I said no.”

  Master Jesper gestured at the door. “The master dragons invited the Magistratus and Prince Regent to the mess hall for dinner. If you hurry, you may be able to find them.”

  The warm, creamy scent of seafood filled the mess hall, bringing with it hints of bacon and capsicums. Warriors occupied every table, just as they had the day King Magnar dragged me in to introduce me as his new bride and Savannah Sky Commander.

  Master Torreo, the
green-haired chef, stood behind a massive vat of clam broth, stirring its contents with what looked like an oar. An arm-sized tentacle flicked out from the bubbling liquid aiming for the throat of one of the dark-skinned servers, who sliced off the appendage and flicked it onto an adjacent griddle.

  Another server cut the writhing tentacle into chunks and placed them into plate-sized bowls already filled with steaming broth.

  I rubbed at my brow and blinked at the spectacle. “What in the Known World is that?”

  “Hydrapus, I believe,” replied Master Jesper. “The tentacles regrow when cut.”

  I shook my head. Now was not the time to ponder on food. The head table King Magnar had set up still remained, but someone had taken down the two gold thrones. Father and the Magistratus sat in the middle, with Master Fosco on Father’s side, and Master Roopal sitting next to the Magistratus.

  Father’s head snapped up. He brought his tankard to his lips, staring at me through narrowed eyes.

  I straightened my posture and strode across the room. Dragon moths fluttered in my stomach. Was I supposed to bow when approaching him in public? Everyone thought I was one of the twins. They called Father ‘Uncle Orson,’ a name only used by close relatives. If I did the same, that would be like impersonating a Prince.

  All the chatter ceased, and every eye in the mess hall focused on me. I glanced at the far left of the room, where Muti and the dragon rider cadets sat. He gave me a thumbs up. The wretched gossip had probably told everyone of my supposed plan to break into the Magical Militia headquarters with him and his comrades.

  Stafford walked half a pace behind, his feet dragging on the ground. Master Jesper clomped next to him.

  Giving the most gallant bow I could muster, I said, “Prince Regent. Magistratus, I wish to petition you on behalf of a hero who has received unjust treatment.”

  Father set down his tankard but didn’t reply. He had already shared his opinions on Evolene, and I hoped he would remain silent for the duration of my entreaty.

  The Magistratus raised his brows. “Who is this hero, child?”