“Get up,” said the shorter mage, who I guessed stood about six feet two.
I glanced down at my delicious roll and sighed. What if this was the last meal I would have before they carted me off to the Magical Militia? Any manner of spells could force the truth from my lips, and I would condemn Niger, Stafford, and Master Jesper to a harsh punishment.
“They wouldn’t dare,” said Fyrian. “One of the dragonets said it saw your father in Fosco’s room with the Witch General.”
The knots in my stomach loosened, and I set the rest of my breakfast roll onto the plate and pulled myself to my feet. “Thank you, Mr. Cobbs. It was a breakfast fit for a Prince.”
The man pressed his lips together and gave me a grim nod. “Good luck with this lot.”
I forced a smile. “From the looks of them, I’ll need it.”
“Enough quipping,” said the shorter mage.
His silent partner raised his hand. White flames shot from his palm, lengthened and then curled around the neckline of my flying jacket. Although his fire didn’t touch my skin, the cold seeped through my leather armor and made me shudder.
“Do you need an infusion of warmth?” asked Fyrian.
“No, thanks,” I replied. “It’s not that bad.”
Mother shifted into her fairy form and placed a hand over the pommel of her scimitar. “Are binds of fire necessary for a child?”
“Cadet Bluford is accused of breaching the deepest level of security of the Magical Militia and of incapacitating two high-ranking witches,” said the mage. “A feat worthy of a fiend with immense magical power.”
She unsheathed her sword. “Then go and find such a monster and stop bothering a seventeen-year-old!”
They ignored her and marched me toward the heavy, wooden door. I cast Eyepatch a wistful look. If only they had given me time to enjoy his breakfast. It was possibly the last of his meals I would ever eat. The older man's Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Would this be the last time I would see him and my other friends? At best, I expected to be expelled and sent home to Mount Bluebeard. At worst… A lump formed in my throat. Who knew what Father would allow to happen to me? This was the same man who had punished me for failing the Magical Militia with a betrothal to King Magnar.
“I’ll follow you to Mount Bluebeard and beyond,” said Fyrian.
“Would they let you leave?” I asked.
“We’re bonded, remember? Wherever you go, so do I.”
My feet dragged toward the exit. Her words should have been a comfort, but I couldn’t help imagining Fyrian locked in an underwater prison in a cell next to mine.
Outside, the harsh, late-morning sun beat down on me like a fiery cudgel, its light reflected off the pale buildings that made up the courtyard. Over the short walk from the jailhouse to the reception doors, dry air scorched my sinuses and filled my lungs. Now, the cool flames around my neck felt like a balm. Mother marched beside us, wielding her unsheathed sword as though ready to attack at the first sign of mistreatment.
I squinted up into the cloudless sky. “Is the weathervane broken again?”
Nobody replied. The witches raised their staffs, and the double doors swung open, letting out a gust of cool air. We stepped inside the reception area, and my shoulders relaxed, welcoming the absence of the heat.
“Wait here. Master Fosco is busy with another student.”
What could be so pressing? I glanced at Mother, who shrugged. After the fanfare used to transport me the few yards from one building to the next, I expected an inquisition, complete with Witch General, Magistratus, and executioner, firing questions about the prison break.
Moments later, Muti stumbled out through Master Fosco’s doors, his jade-colored hair in disarray. The gold band around one of his beard braids had gone, leaving a frayed mess dangling off his chin.
My mouth fell open. He had been the leader of the riders who helped Niger and Fyrian create the diversion. While not the most discreet of people, I had hoped he wouldn't crack under interrogation.
“There’s nothing for him to tell,” said Fyrian. “He doesn’t know Niger was in the Bluford glamor. If anything, he'll be to be your alibi.”
I blew out a relieved breath. “You’re right.”
“I’d be more worried about Roseate if I were you.”
“She won’t tell,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Do you know how much trouble a witch would get into if they found out she was involved? They’d probably execute her.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Fyrian replied.
Muti turned to me with his brows raised. “Are you still in captivity?”
I shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
Curling his lips into a snarl, he raised a crumpled scroll. “I punched Rubens for kicking me somewhere a man should not be kicked.”
“What?”
“Why should I get a written warning when the wretched rapier red started the fight!” With one last snarl, he stormed across the reception area and shoved open the doors leading to the hallway.
Phoenix poked his head out of the director's door, face pale. “Master Fosco will see you now.”
My heart flip-flopped. I’d forgotten about Phoenix. He’d probably told Master Fosco everything we had done!
Chapter 2
I stood at the doorway, flanked by the two mages, and still restrained by the collar of frozen flames. Shudders ran over my puckered skin, stirring the pool of dread festering in my belly. Someone prodded me in the back, and I stepped into the room and raised my head. Behind the wide desk sat Master Fosco, still as hardened lava and with molten fury in his eyes. Father glowered at his left, colder than a Glacier Islands storm. Mother walked around the desk and sat next to him. She folded her arms and glared at me with the kind of disappointed annoyance she usually reserved for Father.
My heart sank. I could cope with the wrath of the other two, but Mother had always been my sanctuary in a world that disapproved of my being illegitimate.
Master Fosco placed both palms on his desk and leaned forward. “The Witch General made her accusations clear last night. This is your last chance to explain yourself.”
I glanced at the giant portrait of Aunt Cendrilla on her purple dragon, expecting to at least see the Witch General on the screen kept behind the painting. “Where is she?”
“Returned to the Magical Militia to fix the largest security breach they have had in two centuries!” Father snarled the last two words.
“How did you do it?” asked Master Fosco.
“It wasn’t me.” I spread my arms wide, exposing my palms, to demonstrate my innocence. One of my hands bumped the shorter mage, and I let my arms drop to my sides. “Do I even have that kind of magic?”
“A criminal does not need powers to elicit others to commit crimes on their behalf.” Father leaned forward, hands curling into fists. “Just look at how Jack Galloway conducted his years of crime.”
I clenched my teeth. Evolene had been forced by her father to use her burgeoning powers to commit whatever the Witch General had considered serious enough to have her condemned. He probably thought she was better off having her life force fed to the Magical Militia wards.
“There’s no reasoning with him,” said Fyrian. “Don’t bother telling him she’s different.”
“That would be the biggest waste of time,” I muttered into our bond.
Master Fosco narrowed his eyes. “Is Fyrian-Lacerta telling you what to say?”
I reared back. “No!”
He folded his arms. “Good, because I will take any attempt to collude with her as a sign of guilt.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll shut up, now.”
I didn’t bother to nod in case Master Fosco misinterpreted it and sentenced me to dung duties with King Magnar.
“Maybe the cadet needs a bit of privacy.” Mother gave the mages and witches standing behind me a pointed stare.
“Send them out,” said Father.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Mother’s posture relaxed, and she gestured at the stool in front of Master Fosco’s desk. “Alba,” she said in her softest voice, “Tell us what happened yesterday.”
I lowered myself onto the low seat and stared up into three eager gazes. Curiosity burned in Master Fosco’s maroon eyes, while Father’s stare was sharp enough to slit me open for answers. He stroked his blue-black beard and clenched his lips, a gesture he only made when listening to what he believed to be a pack of lies. Mother leaned forward, chin cupped in her hands, pretty features arranged in an Aunt Cendrilla smile. My insides tightened. It would soon twist into annoyance when I failed to give her the confession she wanted.
I licked my dry lips. “Yesterday, after King Magnar’s trial, Stafford was upset about Evolene. I took him to Master Jesper, who gave him something to help him sleep.”
“What?” asked Father.
“Essence of Sweet Dreams.”
“Why?”
“He’s courting Evolene and was devastated when the Witch General didn’t reduce her sentence to banishment to Tundra. And he couldn’t try to rescue Evolene, because the witches said they would keep him the next time they caught him trespassing in the Magical Militia.” I raised a shoulder. “Master Jesper wanted to keep him sleeping until after the execution on Saturn’s Day.”
Father scowled at Master Fosco. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, Father seemed to approve wholeheartedly of my friendship with Stafford. When I had disguised myself as him and bumped into Father at the Warrior Queen, he had dropped hints as heavy as anchors that he would approve if Stafford and I were more than friends. I stared into my lap. Perhaps Father felt guilty about betrothing me to King Magnar.
“Never mind all that.” Mother tapped her sharp fingernails on the desk. “What did you do next?”
“I was angry.” I folded my arms across my chest, hoping the gesture would make me look convincing. “So far, all I’d done was talk to people, and Evolene was still going to die.”
“Yes?” Master Fosco said in a breathy whisper, his eyes wide.
“I told Fyrian that if she didn’t help me, I would probably get myself killed fighting all the witches.”
“And she said yes?” he asked.
I shrugged. “She knows that if I die, so does she.”
Master Fosco rubbed his chin. “I see…”
“And then what?” Mother gave me an encouraging smile.
“We got a gang together.” I placed my hands on my knees. “A group of fast riders who saw what I did with the weathervane and wanted the adventure of their lives.”
Father bared his teeth. “Wretched children.”
I ignored him. “We rode out to the wards in formation, but somehow, the witches knew what we were doing. They shot us down with spellfire, and we had to land. That’s when they put us behind bars.”
Father slammed his fist on the table, making my heart jump into my throat. “Lies!”
I clutched my chest. “What part?”
With the deliberation of a midnight tiger, he rose and slunk behind Mother’s seat. She clutched at his arm in warning, but he ignored her and rounded the table.
My heart reverberated in my chest and thudded as though it had its own speaking-horn. With Father’s enhanced ogre hearing, I was certain he heard each frantic beat. Every bit of moisture in my throat evaporated, leaving behind membranes that felt like parched earth. I gulped.
With a single finger, he raised my chin, forcing me to look into his glacial eyes. “What part?” he snarled through clenched teeth. “How about every single word?”
A breath caught in my throat. At that moment, I felt like an orlovi chick unable to bury its head in the sand, frozen in the gaze of a hungry predator. Father usually reserved this level of anger for those who had committed crimes against the Noble House of Bluebeard, and it usually resulted in fatal punishments. The intensity in his eyes made sweat break out across my brow. If I hadn’t already been sitting on the stool, my knees might have collapsed.
“Father…” My tongue darted out to lick my lips. “I—”
“Alba,” he said in a voice so soft, so scary, so stomach-sickeningly sinister. “Not a single word of lie will pass your lips, or I will take you from this academy and confine you in a tower until you are twenty-one.”
My mouth clamped shut. There was no point in speaking, then.
Someone knocked on the door, and Father turned his glare away from me. My muscles loosened the fraction needed for me to exhale, but I couldn’t relax fully, knowing the interrogation would begin soon.
Madam Maritimus stepped in, holding a thick, two-foot-wide scroll. The older witch wore her long, white hair in a messy bun, looking like she had been up all night working. “I have all the records of ward activity and analyzed them by name and species. Cadet Bluford crossed the wards on Tiw’s Day with Phoenix and returned less than an hour later.”
Phoenix stepped forward. “We went to the Palace to fetch the Prince Regent.”
“Anything else?” asked Master Fosco.
“There was another crossing of the wards on Wodan’s Day. Cadets Bluford, Perrault, and Roseate left on the Fornax Flying Float and returned three hours later.”
I wiped my damp palms on my leather breeches. “The Witch General said we could visit Evolene.”
“And?” asked Master Fosco.
“Cadet Bluford, the Prince Regent, and a pair of outside witches. Again, they spent less than an hour outside the wards and returned with three fairies of mixed heritage.”
My heart thudded. That was the time Father left Mount to Fornax speak to Prince Vanus, who had brought Mother and her two lieutenants, Uncles Orel and Rouen. The next time I would cross the wards was to rescue Evolene. Master Jesper had supplied us with cloaks that would make us invisible to the wards. Now was the time to find out if they had worked.
“And yesterday?” asked Master Fosco.
“That’s all.” Madam Maritimus pushed back a lock of white hair from her face. “Apart from the incidents with the locusts and the missing dragon eggs, Cadet Bluford has remained within the wards of Mount Fornax.”
A breath of relief eased out of my parted lips. The cloaks had worked.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
The witch bristled. “Are you asking me if I know how to do my job?”
He waved her away. “Leave. I will call you if I need anything else.”
With a huff, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. Triumph surged from the pit of my belly into my chest like a geyser. I clamped my lips together, suppressing a smile. We had gotten away with it. There was no proof I had done anything but languish in a jailhouse. Now, if I could stick to my story without wavering, they would have to let me go.
Madam Maritimus slammed the door shut, and I raised my head, only to get caught in Father’s glare of scrutiny. He had been watching me throughout the entire conversation. All the blood drained from my face, and my geyser of triumph fizzled into a fetid puddle.
“Take off that glamor,” he said in a low voice. “I want to see your true face.”
“We’d need a witch to do that,” I whispered, hoping Mother wouldn’t contradict me. “And Master Fosco’s just irritated the nearest one.”
“What does it matter?” Mother folded her arms and raised her brows in an expression that meant I owed her for allowing the lie to slip. “She returned from her adventure unhurt.”
“You know what she did,” Father said to Mother without taking his glare off me.
“Of course, I don’t,” she snapped. “Unlike you, I focus on what matters most. Family.”
Father turned his gaze to Mother. “Your daughter has just caused the biggest security breach since the days of the Snow Queen. With Cendr
illa unable to fight, and the Forgotten King about to be raised, Steppe needs the might of the Magical Militia!”
She tossed her head. “Oh, I’d forgotten you were the de facto King while your wife was away.”
He curled his lip and growled.
My spine slumped. I didn’t want to endure another of their arguments. They usually started about one thing then rapidly devolved into Mother sniping at Father for marrying her younger sister, even though she was mated to him years earlier. It made my stomach hurt at the best of times, and I wouldn’t subject myself to that torment again.
“Excuse me,” I said loud enough to drown out Father’s snarl. “Since whatever I’m about to say will be interpreted as a lie, I’ll say nothing in my defense. But the Witch General told me that two of her lieutenants were abducted on Moon Day and replaced with impostors. I was in Mount Fornax then.”
“Can you prove it?” asked Father.
“Every single warrior close to King Magnar saw me, including Master Fosco.”
Father glanced at Master Fosco, who shrugged. “She was his prisoner. I saw her multiple times.”
I nodded. “The rest of what the Witch General said was too magically complicated for me to understand, let alone carry out. I failed the Magical Militia, remember?”
Father glanced away, probably scowling at the truth of my words. While I had broken into the Magical Militia’s prison with my friends, King Magnar’s sisters had arrived days earlier, meddled with the wards and created a trap. They had been the ones who had abducted the lieutenants and impersonated them. My skin rippled with irritation. How could they possibly think I’d be responsible for something like that?
Straightening, I said, “The Witch General needs to look out for real threats from people much more powerful than me. What if it was someone connected to the Forgotten King?”
A muscle in Father’s jaw tightened, indicating that I had won the argument. “Enough.”
I kept my mind blank, tamping down the glee stirring in my gut. There was still time for one of the trio to launch a fresh wave of questioning.
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