Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  “Wow, I didn’t think it would be that hot!” Stafford took off his flying jacket and wrapped it around his waist.

  I pulled my own jacket through my gauntlets and secured it around my middle. “We’d better put on our breathing parasols. That place was smokier than I’d imagined.”

  Stafford shuddered. “I can’t stand the thought of that thing feeding on my life-force.”

  “We’re doing it for Evolene.”

  His face straightened into a mask of grim determination. With a firm nod, he pulled the disc out of his pocket and placed it on his head. I turned away. The last thing I wanted to see was a bunch of jellyfish tentacles burrow into Stafford’s nostrils. Seeing something so stomach-churning might make me run back through the cocooning chamber and ask someone else to collect the frozen flames.

  I pulled my own breathing parasol out of my pocket and turned it around to work out which way to put it on my head. The other side reminded me of a mushroom’s underside, giving me the answer I needed. After placing it on my head, the parasol stretched down across my face, over my neck, down my chest, arms, and onto my hands. Gasping, I turned to Stafford, who thrashed about with his body half-covered by a filmy substance.

  I bellowed, “What is—?”

  The parasol slipped down my mouth, coating my throat with its slimy liquid. My heart rate doubled, and I waved my arms like I was sinking into a pond full of frogspawn.

  “Calm down,” said Fyrian. “Master Jesper wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “Ah… Ah… Ah!” Stafford panted. “I thought I was drowning for a minute.”

  I stilled my body and allowed the breathing parasol to finish its task. Two slimy tubes, I refused to think of them as tentacles, slipped down my nostrils and settled at the base of my throat, keeping it cool.

  I shuddered. “That was the worst experience of my life!”

  “Worse than the ball of locusts around the capital?” asked Stafford.

  “Worse!”

  “Worse than popping a homunculus?”

  “Worse!”

  “Worse than almost getting married to King Magnar?”

  “Wo—” I shook my head. Nothing could compare to the damsel denial squeezing both mine and poor Fyrian’s hearts. “Come on. Let’s get those frozen flames, so we leave here before anyone catches us.”

  This time, when we stepped through the archway into the sleeping dragons’ lair, the heat and smoke didn’t affect us. I sent Master Jesper a silent thanks for keeping us safe with its breathing parasol. It wasn’t as heartfelt as it might have been had he supplied us with a breathing bubble.

  ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

  I squeezed my eyes shut, which did nothing to protect my ears from the cacophony of snores. Tiny pebbles rattled on the ground in time with the beating of my heart. After raising my fist and setting it alight, it took several rounds of blinking for my eyes to focus. Sleeping dragons of every color imaginable slumbered on the ground. Some lay on their sides like lions after a feast, others rested on their backs, pointing rounded stomachs to the ceiling.

  SNUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

  “Stay left,” said Fyrian. “That’s where the purple dragons sleep.”

  I grabbed Stafford’s arm, and we headed to the left of the room, where giant slabs of what looked like ice lay piled in a stack.

  “Is this it?” he shouted above the snores.

  “Yes,” said Fyrian. “Take it now.”

  “Fyrian says so.” I opened up the pouch Master Jesper gave me and stuffed handfuls of flames into its depths. Stafford did the same. It took several minutes for the pouch to flash silver and close, but triumph filled my insides when I completed the task.

  Something pulsed on my hip. I glanced to the side and found the rod Niger had given me. “Do you want some power?”

  It pulsed twice.

  Aunt Cendrilla had mentioned that her staff would communicate with her like this when she first acquired it. I pulled the gnarled object from my sword belt and stared at it. A gauge formed on its side, much like the one on my Parched Sword.

  “What are you doing?” asked Stafford.

  “It needs powering up.” I stuck the pointed end of the rod into a frozen flame. Its surface sizzled, releasing the scent of concentrated brimstone. If it wasn’t for the breathing parasol dulling my senses, I might have wrinkled my nose.

  BRO-RO-RO-RO-RO-RO!

  “Watch out!” Stafford pushed me down.

  A wave of fire washed over us. I turned around and glared at the purple dragon who had sent it.

  Stafford pulled off his knapsack and opened it up. “You never know when extra power will come in handy.”

  I shrugged. His habit of picking up bits of forgotten gravestone had proven helpful many times over.

  Moments later, a massive red dragon sleeping on its back snorted, releasing a torrent of flames from its parted jaws.

  I nudged Stafford in the ribs. “Let’s leave now before the sleep-flaming gets worse!”

  Chapter 17

  By the time we returned to the laboratory with the pouches of frozen flames, the rising sun had painted the sky a shade of diluted blood. It peeked over the horizon like flames gathering in the back of a dragon’s mouth, poised to strike.

  In mere hours, King Magnar would be sentenced to death by dragon fire, and the entire population of Mount Fornax would watch. Because his execution was for trying to enslave Mount Fornax and not for tricking me into the damsel denial, the wretched enchantment wouldn’t backfire on me. I clutched the pouch to my roiling stomach. Perhaps was probably the damsel denial urging me to save King Magnar from an execution he had brought onto himself. I couldn’t be dreading the wretched man’s death.

  Fyrian flew Stafford and me to the Drogott Arena and deposited us outside the main entrance. Instead of taking a seat, she flew off to meet Niger to practice their coordination.

  Inside, the chefs had only just set up their griddle stations and had them bubbling with oil. Master Torreo walked around, inspecting their work. He didn’t wear his chef’s chaperon this morning, so his dark green, curly hair fanned around his head like a dandelion.

  When he caught sight of us, he said, “We’re serving swaddled boar, but the meat hasn’t yet arrived. Do you want to wait, or would you eat a Johnnycake with sweet toppings?”

  I raised a shoulder. “That’s fine with me.”

  “Yes, please.” Stafford rubbed his belly.

  The dragon master directed us to the nearest chef. He ladled four servings of golden batter onto the griddle which sizzled as they hit the hotplate. The warm aroma of Johnnycakes made my mouth water, and I willed them to cook faster.

  “You should have waited for the boar,” said Fyrian. “That looks absolutely revolting.”

  “Not to me.”

  When the edges of the batter browned, and bubbles formed across their surface, the server pulled out his spatula. He flipped the Johnnycakes, revealing their golden undersides.

  I licked my lips. “Do you have anything sweet?”

  “Ask him.” He nodded at a figure behind us. It was Eyepatch, setting up his porridge station.

  “King Midas pear compote, honey, or lemon preserves?”

  We both chose the lemon and headed to the seats with our Johnnycakes. The sun had fully risen and hovered low in a steel-blue sky. Warriors, witches, and dragons piled into the stadium, all with breakfasts, and all awaiting the start of the day’s trial. It took us no time to devour our Johnnycakes, and when they were gone, I thought about getting more but didn’t want to lose the seats we’d saved for Niger and his brothers. Instead, I stared at the door to the royal box, wondering when it would open.

  “Did things go well last night?” asked Stafford.

  The feel of Niger’s lips against mine resurfaced, as did his thunderstorm scent. I flushed. “What do you mean?”

  “The you-know-what Master Jesper did?”

  “Oh!” He meant the disguises. “I don’t think anyone noticed. By the way, how do
es the Prince Regent know you?”

  Stafford’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t.”

  “He remembered you from the orphanage.”

  “Really? Sometimes, he’d come with Auntie Rilla, but I don’t think I ever got to talk to him.”

  The door to the royal box opened, revealing Lieutenant Argentina and her friend, Raven with the hangman’s braids. Argentina walked to the edge of the royal box and stared straight in our direction. I elbowed Stafford. “Look.”

  “Them again,” he snarled. “Why do they hate Evolene so much?”

  “I don’t know, but if I ever get the chance to curse them, I will.”

  “Count me in. I can’t wait to see their faces when we turn things around.”

  Lieutenant Argentina’s friend opened the door for the Witch General, who took her seat at the back of the box. The Magistratus entered next with his ceremonial witches, then Father stepped in with Mother perched atop his red, royal sash.

  Stafford leaned forward, hand over his brow. “Is that your—”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s she doing here?”

  I glanced at Stafford, who stared up with a deep frown. I had no doubt that he was worrying on behalf of Aunt Cendrilla. “The fairies asked her to come and keep an eye on the situation with the spriggans. She’s here with two of her men.”

  Masters Fosco, Solum, and Klauw entered and took their usual seats. Master Roopal walked to the podium and picked up the speaking horn.

  “Warriors, witches, and dragons, good morning. I stand here before you having heard the testimonies of a select few victims of King Magnar. Because of the limitations of time and the age of some key witnesses, you have only experienced a sample of the sins he committed against the good people and dragons of Mount Fornax.”

  “That explains why we weren’t called,” said Stafford. “We’re all under twenty-one.”

  “Except Master Jesper,” I muttered.

  “This is an unusual case as it concerns a monarch and one who was not directly responsible for the manufacture of the loyalty elixir. The court has proven that it was tied to the Savannah royal family with the hope that Mount Fornax would come under the control of King Calder.”

  I straightened. So far, Master Roopal was presenting facts in a balanced manner.

  “However,” continued the silver-haired dragon master, “King Magnar did take advantage of those who had given him refuge when he had been heinously attacked by spriggans and left to roam the drylands with neither sustenance nor protection.”

  The warriors around us grumbled at King Magnar’s ingratitude. I glowered at his form, bent nearly double on the pillory. If the witches hadn’t pulled him through the wards, one of the many flocks of vultures or packs of predators might have eaten his unconscious body. Or a venomous creature might have stung him. After his stunt with the dragon eggs, he should have been making things up to Mount Fornax, not trying to enslave us all.

  “Let’s hope Magnar didn’t tell the court you head butted him at the border,” said Fyrian.

  It was probably the damsel denial playing up because of King Magnar’s current state, but a pang of guilt twanged at my heartstrings. “He deserved it. And how was I to know the spriggans would curse him afterward?”

  “A multitude of witnesses have shared the impact of his diabolical deeds, including the troll whose young companions became his hostages, the master nearly beaten to death under his influence, and the impressionable dragon who bonded with him under the influence of the loyalty elixir.”

  Fyrian snickered at her rival’s predicament. Behind us, a few of the dragons on their stands let out huffs of amused smoke. I frowned. Even if Byrrus, the oxblood-colored dragon, was an arrogant show-off, he didn’t deserve to be stuck with King Magnar.

  Master Roopal spread his good arm to the side. “Warriors, witches, and dragons, the most contemptible of King Magnar’s crimes was the cunning and corrupt means by which he conquered Mount Fornax!”

  Master Fosco leaped to his feet. “Death by dragon fire. It is the only way to free ourselves!”

  “Silence,” shouted the Magistratus. “You have had your say already.”

  Father pulled Master Fosco back into his seat and gave him a consolatory pat on the shoulder.

  Master Roopal placed the speaking horn back to his lips. “King Magnar’s crimes warrant the most severe punishment of the law. However, before a guilty verdict is announced and King Magnar is sentenced to death by dragon fire, we will give him the opportunity to mount his defense.”

  Applause broke out across the arena, and the warriors around us rose to their feet and gave Master Roopal a standing ovation. Roars of approval echoed against the building’s curved walls, loud and raucous enough to make the sandstone tremble.

  Stafford stood and prodded me on the shoulder. I glanced around the stands and up to the royal box. The only person not standing was the Magistratus, who I supposed had to be impartial.

  “Get up,” said Fyrian. “That was a brilliant speech.”

  As much as I wanted, my legs wouldn’t budge. Instead, I raised both fists and set them alight. An ache formed in my chest and swirled around my heart, so I lowered my arms and placed my hands on my lap. The enchantment binding me to King Magnar stirred. I only hoped it wouldn’t prompt me to mount a rescue before he got his well-deserved flaming.

  Niger pushed through the crowd and wedged himself between me and one of his friends. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” I rubbed my chest. “How did it go?”

  “Much better. Fyrian’s responses are almost as fast as Flavo’s.”

  “Hey.” I leaned into him. “Sorry about last night. General Sia—”

  “No harm was done, and I did not mean to cause any disrespect.”

  Before I got the chance to tell him that I’d liked the act that had caused Mother to attack, the applause died down.

  After a lengthy moment of silence, King Magnar raised his head. “I admit that I wronged the dragons and the nation of Steppe, but my actions were misguided rather than malicious.”

  Master Fosco rushed to the edge of the royal box and glowered down. “You call stealing an entire city-state misguided? What about having its leader pulverized for uncovering your deception?”

  Father stood and whispered something to Master Fosco. He whispered back but eventually returned to his seat and folded his arms across his chest.

  “I apologize for my insensitive phrasing,” said King Magnar. “But while we’re arguing over who did what and how they chose to phrase their misdeeds, a danger lurks on the horizon that could kill us all.”

  The entire stadium quietened. I shook my head. The alchemists had already brought up this excuse. I couldn’t see what King Magnar could say to make a difference to his plight.

  He straightened as much as he could within the confines of the pillory. “The Forgotten King of the Fairies will soon break free from his banishment. And you need my help to stop him.”

  “Enough.” The Magistratus raised a clawed hand.

  King Magnar’s mouth fell open. “But—”

  “As I said yesterday, Steppe will not become dragged into a war of the realms. And neither will Mount Fornax. Not only do we have envoys from the fairies to report to their superiors, but I will not permit any dragons to cross our lands into the Savannah Empire to wage war.”

  Chatter filled the arena. I turned to Niger. “Can he do that?”

  He stroked his beard. “It is within the rights of the Ogre Senate to close the borders around the country. That would also include those between Steppe and Mount Fornax.”

  “Ah… What a clever idea.”

  “That’s all very well,” shouted King Magnar above the chatter. “But as a foreign monarch, I’m afforded the benefit of diplomatic immunity. Any disciplinary action against my person is an act of war.”

  Everybody, including myself, jeered. Up above, the dragons hissed. Someone sitting behind and to our left threw a wooden bowl
of porridge that hit his pillory with a whack. King Magnar had used the same excuse to avoid being punished for stealing the dragon eggs.

  “He cannot get away with what he did!” snarled Niger.

  “No wonder he was looking so relaxed,” I muttered.

  The Magistratus raised both clawed hands. “Silence in the court… Silence!” He advanced to the edge of the royal box. “Your Majesty, are you familiar with the term ‘revolution?’ When he received no answer, he asked, “How about ‘coup d’état?’”

  King Magnar’s legs trembled. “W-what are you saying, Magistratus?”

  “As the ill-gained monarch of Mount Fornax and the King of the Dragons, any of your subjects are at liberty to rend you from limb to limb and burn your entrails, thereby restoring Mount Fornax to an independent city state.”

  “They wouldn’t!” he cried.

  “And there would not be a thing the Witch General, Prince Regent, or I could do about it. As foreign guests, we are unable to interfere with matters of the Savannah Empire’s new territory.”

  “I waive my claim over Mount Fornax!” he wailed.

  Everybody gasped, and a rush of joy burst through my chest. He was no longer our monarch! I turned from Stafford to Niger, exchanging gleeful smiles. It was hard to see Master Fosco’s expression, but Father gave him a hearty clap on the back, and Mother perched on his head for a second before he batted her away.

  The Magistratus inclined his head. “Since King Magnar has declared himself a foreign monarch, there is little we can do about his conduct without waging war against Savannah and its incumbent Spriggans.” He turned to his ceremonial witches. “Release the prisoner.”

  All four of them pointed their staffs at King Magnar. When the white light cleared, the pillory was gone. King Magnar’s golden crown sat back on his head, and his armor, complete with a cloak, gleamed like freshly polished leather. He rolled his shoulders and strolled around the stage with his nose in the air.

  Blood drained from my face. “What?” If he was free to promenade like a preening peacock, he was free to exercise the damsel denial. “How?”