His patient, a dark-haired half-ogre, groaned. “The dragonets!”
“What happened to you?” Master Fosco shoved his way to the front.
“We were escorting a dozen green dragonets to their roost. Asproceros attacked us from behind with some kind of cudgel.”
“Did you see him?” I asked.
He shook his head and winced at the moment.
I stepped forward. “How did you know it was Asproceros?”
“Who else but a mighty ogre can hit four males with one blow?” he said.
“A dragon,” I replied.
Everyone conscious turned to look at me. Master Fosco frowned. “None of my dragons would harm the grooms and steal dragonets.”
“But that wild dragon might.”
He stepped back. “I will check.”
Master Fosco disappeared, and I gaped. “I thought purple dragons had to transform to teleport.”
“Not if they are as old as Master Fosco,” said Master Hyacinthus.
Seconds later, he reappeared. “The wild dragon is still in his cell. The culprit has to be an intruder.”
Another groom sat up. “Or a spriggan,” he said with a groan. “They can do anything!”
Everyone fell silent. The notion that spriggans had invaded Mount Fornax to steal dragonets made my stomach churn. The wards had been strengthened against them since the time the eggs were stolen. After everything that had happened, King Magnar’s sisters wouldn’t bring an artifact into the territory to give the spriggans an opening… Would they?
Chapter 10
Niger and I joined the search party, looking for the missing dragonets, but there were few clues except that whoever attacked the grooms had done so with one blow. When Madam Maritimus and her team arrived to illuminate the area, there were no footprints or signs that anyone with the bulk and power needed to incapacitate four half-ogres had even visited the terrace. It was almost as though the dragonet thief had appeared and reappeared at the scene of the crime by magic.
The next morning, everyone in the mess hall talked about the missing dragonets. Even Eyepatch wiped a tear as he served porridge with oats he had harvested with the help of the other servers. With a yawn, I slumped at the breakfast table with Stafford, Gobi, and Rufus. Nothing about the thefts made sense. Why would Asproceros return to the territory where he had murdered a dragon rider, knowing there was a warrant for his death?
A fight broke out in front of the griddles. A seven-foot-tall dragon tamer accused his much shorter colleague of having stolen his cloak. Master Torreo threw the larger male across the mess hall and out through the barrier, shouting a warning to anyone who wanted to fight close to his fine cooking equipment.
I shook my head. “This is getting ridiculous. Why is everyone blaming each other?”
Stafford mumbled something into his bowl.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
He shook his head and shoveled a heaping spoonful of porridge into his mouth. This level of despondency could only mean that things hadn’t gone well with Evolene. Or that he had venture somewhere else instead of going to see her as we had discussed the day before.
I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t go to the laboratory last night, did you?”
“Phoenix was at the gates of the Healer’s Academy.” Stafford leaned across, fingers stretching toward my jug of rhododendron honey.
I pulled it out of reach. “So what?”
His head snapped up. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Anything.” I poured a generous amount of red honey into my porridge. “He might have been delivering a message for Master Fosco, talked to Dr. Duclair about a class, or seen one of the healers about a chipped claw. You might have found out if you’d bothered to go in and ask.”
“It’s all right for you,” he muttered. “The person you like is less complicated.”
Shooting a furtive glance at Rufus, I gave Stafford a gentle kick under the table and shoved the jug of honey into his hand. “Never mind that. What do you think’s going on with all these fights?”
Stafford shrugged. “It’s Asproceros, isn’t it?”
“That’s what they want it to look like,” I replied.
Rufus set down his foot-long warthog sausage. “You think the real culprit is disguising his tracks?”
I nodded. “He’s making everyone go crazy.”
Gobi dunked his sausage in a bowl of green chili sauce. “You were talking about him yesterday.”
“He tried to poison Fyrian against me,” I stirred my porridge, making it turn pink.
Stafford’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“The wild dragon the tamers brought in a few days ago.”
Rufus shook his head. “Wild dragons are notorious for causing discord among their own kind, but they do not make warriors fight.”
“He’s right.” Stafford held my jug of honey and raised his brows in question. When I gave him a nod, he poured half the contents into his porridge. “Not even a purple dragon can do that.”
“They can teleport and hurt people with their roars, right?” I asked. “What else are purples known for?”
Rufus broke his breakfast sausage into four smaller pieces and submerged them in his bowl of green chili. “Each dragon is strong in one particular sense. Greens have the best eyesight, whites and silvers have the best sense of smell.” He fished a piece out with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. “Reds have the most sensitive taste buds, and blues have the best sense of hearing.”
“You’ve missed out black dragons,” said Stafford. “They have the best sense of touch because they need it to work with the earth.”
I poured the rest of the honey into my porridge. “That’s covered all the senses. What about purples?”
“They’re the most perceptive,” said Rufus.
“Mind readers?”
He shrugged. “Who knows.”
“Maybe Phoenix will tell us,” said Gobi.
Stafford lowered his head, muttering something unintelligible into his spoonful of porridge. I pursed my lips and stirred my breakfast. Just because Master Fosco was in love with his bondmate, it didn’t mean that Phoenix would go the same way. Evolene seemed more interested in working with Master Jesper than riding about on a dragon.
“All right, then.” I folded my arms across my chest. “What type of dragon can affect people's’ moods?”
Rufus’ brows drew together. “None.”
Gobi snickered. “Apart from Rubens, when he kicked Muti in the—”
“What if a dragon had scales of all colors?” I shot Gobi a filthy look.
“Wasn’t the wild dragon white?” asked Stafford.
“Iridescent,” I replied.
“What color is that?” asked Gobi.
“It depends on what angle you look at. I saw all the colors on his scales except black.”
Gobi drew his brows together. “Maybe he is a new type.”
I shrugged. “Whatever he is, let’s hope they work out how to stop him.”
“And where he hid the dragonets if you are right.” Rufus stood and headed for the doors leading to the hallway. “Time for History of Dragons.”
I followed after my classmates, thinking through what I knew. The wild dragon believed the dragons of Mount Fornax to have mentally enslaved themselves to ogre-hybrids in exchange for a comfortable prison. Someone with that point of view might think it was too late to save the grown dragons, but they could save the dragonets, who would be young and impressionable enough to learn how to see us as their enemy.
“He seems the type,” said Fyrian. “But where did he put the dragonets?”
“That depends on what type he is. An earth dragon could make an underground hideout.” I stepped out into the hallway lit by dim gaslights.
Fyrian fell silent for a moment. “But he didn’t have a trace of black or brown on his scales.”
“It’s just an example.” I followed Stafford through a set of double door
s and down several flights of stairs into another hallway.
“How is he getting out of his cage?” asked Fyrian.
“He teleports.”
“Oh! Because he has all the other colors including purple.”
“Exactly.” I stepped into the History of Dragons lecture theater; a large room that overlooked a cave enjoyed by dragonets. Today, the ultramarine pool lay empty, probably because last night’s attack had driven the dragonets into hiding. I lowered myself into the seat next to Stafford and pulled out my writing material. Thinking went so much smoother when Fyrian was there to help me sort my thoughts.
Master Roopal rose from his desk and walked across the front of the small lecture theater, rubbing the stump of his left arm. “I was going to continue with what happened to the dragons during their captivity with the fairies, but pressing matters necessitate me to impart some recent history.”
I sat up and held my quill at the ready. Would this be a talk about the wild dragon who orchestrated the underground tunnel?
He pulled the curtain off the board, revealing a detailed drawing of a white-haired ogre with heavy brows concealing beady, black eyes. Instead of a nose, an ivory horn protruded from the middle of his face.
“This is Asproceros, otherwise known as Simum Simum. He is one of the most notorious poachers in Steppe.”
One of the healers sitting in the front of the lecture theater raised her hand. “Sir, is this the ogre who killed a dragon rider?”
Master Roopal nodded. “Alas, young Paniscus was a talented rider cut down by this criminal for protecting his beloved dragon. Asproceros entered the dragon’s stall and tried to force her to leave the wards with him.”
“How?” asked Muti. “No dragon would follow someone they did not like.”
I leaned forward. Muti had a point. Even if Asproceros was a strong ogre, dragons were still more powerful. Rapier reds were probably about the same in size and strength as a full ogre, but they had teeth and claws and flames to use for self-defense.
Master Roopal pinched the bridge of his nose. “Asproceros carved an instrument from a bottle gourd, believing that playing it would lure the dragons out from their stalls and follow him.”
“Like a snake charmer?” asked Gobi.
“Unfortunately, yes. Dragons love the arts, and music can prove to be a distraction for even the most agitated of our kind.”
I frowned. Did that mean anyone with a musical instrument could distract a dragon? That was dangerous knowledge in the hands of the wrong person.
“We like music but not enough to lose our senses,” said Fyrian. “I heard she followed Asproceros out of curiosity. Everyone here knows better than to trail after a strange musician now.”
I tapped my quill on my chin. Perhaps full-sized dragons knew to be wary of strangers, but what about young dragonets like the group we washed the other day? They could barely behave themselves, let alone heed a warning not to follow an interesting stranger.
“You’re right,” Fyrian said with a smoky sigh. “I used to love the palace musician. It took several years for me to focus on other things while the music played.”
“Mother taught me the pipe. Would you like me to come to your stall and play sometimes?”
“Would you?” her voice raised several octaves.
“Of course.”
Stafford gave me a nudge, returning my focus to the lecture. I glanced at his notes, which were already half a page long. Sending him a silent word of thanks, I dipped my quill into the ink pot and scribbled down what he had written.
“Why doesn’t the head of his Noble House deal with Asproceros?” asked one of the healer cadets, a quarter-ogre with curly, blond hair.
“It is now defunct and in disgrace,” replied Master Roopal.
“Which one is it?” the cadet asked.
“The former House of Rhinoceros.”
Stafford raised his hand. “B-but… b-but…”
“Yes?” Master Roopal gave him a nod of encouragement.
“But Mount Fornax was built on the former grounds of Rhinoceros.”
“Indeed. Some believe he poaches from dragons because they now own what used to belong to his kin.”
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. At least the reason why Asproceros kept returning to Mount Fornax made sense. The history between the Royal Houses of Rhinoceros and Suidae were complicated, starting from Aunt Cendrilla’s grandmother. I shook my head. This wasn’t the time to dredge up centuries-old history. A deadly poacher with a grudge might have infiltrated the mountain and could kill again if someone got in his way.
Rufus grunted. “If the House of Rhinoceros had not plotted against Her Majesty, they still might have a home.”
Master Roopal smiled. “It is lucky for us dragons that they did, then.”
A knock sounded on the door, and a thin man wearing a homespun tunic stepped inside. “A message for Rufus Griffon.”
“Here.” Master Roopal gestured at Rufus.
The messenger descended the stairs and stopped at our level. He handed Rufus a small scroll and walked away. Rufus cracked it open, scanned his contents and turned around. “Which brother is injured?”
A spasm of fear squeezed my heart. Niger!
“Sorry.” The messenger shrugged. “They didn’t tell me.”
Fingers trembling, I stuffed my writing equipment into my knapsack and nudged Stafford to swing his legs to the side to let me pass. “I’m coming with you.” Rufus cast an absent glance in my direction and pulled himself to his feet. I whispered to Gobi, “Will you be able to pack his bag at the end of the class?”
He sat up straighter and gave me a grim nod. “Please tell us what happened. All his brothers are very nice.”
“All right.”
Rufus and I left the History of Dragons class, and we walked in silence through the hallways. As soon as we reached the terrace, and the door clicked shut, he asked, “What is between you and my brother?”
Cold shock spread across my belly, making me catch my breath. “Which one?”
“Do not feign ignorance, Bluford.”
My gaze darted around the terrace and over the clump of sunflowers that seemed to lean in to hear my reply. I stared down at the chamomile lawn. Rufus was a lot more observant than the average warrior. He must have seen Niger touching my hand.
I forced myself to breathe. “I’m the reserve keeper in the—”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“Niger has a lot of friends but none he treasures as much as you.”
I raised my shoulders into a shrug. “You take care of Gobi like he’s a little brother. Maybe Niger’s doing the same for me.”
“Gobi is twelve and recently lost his mother. You are seventeen and have both parents.”
We walked across the lawn in silence, feet crunching the flowers underfoot. What could I say? Any lie I might be able to concoct under this amount of pressure would be so transparent, he would suspect Niger of doing worse than consorting with a Princess in disguise. But if I told the truth, Rufus might report me to someone who could cause me a lot of trouble.
“You should tell him,” said Fyrian. “Then he’ll stop asking questions.”
“And start telling me off for taking a boy’s space at the Dragon Mage Academy. You know what he’s like.”
She gave me a mental shrug. “The news will come out sooner or later. It’s best that you have a few allies who already know and don’t care.”
I chewed my lip. She was right.
“There is something I need to tell you,” I said in a small voice.
“If it is related to why King Magnar is equally as obsessed with you as he is with Princess Alba, I already know.”
My feet ground to a halt. “How?”
“Princess Alba demonstrated her fire magic in the opening ceremony. Only a trained mage could have done that. The name Albert Bluford is too similar to Alba Bluebeard. And for the last few weeks, Niger looks at nobod
y but you.”
“Oh. Why didn’t anyone else notice?”
“I only noticed when the loyalty elixir wore off. He tried to kiss you even when he heard Master Jesper’s explanation that Princess Alba was Bluford all along.”
“Right.” I dipped my head and continued walking down the terrace.
“Your actions could get my brother executed,” said Rufus. “Half-ogre males should not consort with witches.”
The words hit me like a boulder. Even though the only thing I shared with witches was my gender and being a quarter-ogre, I supposed someone worried about his brother’s wellbeing would categorize me with the most protected species in all of Steppe.
He stamped on a stone, activating an upward flight of stairs. “If you care about Niger, you will break things off.”
Anguish twisted at my heart, making me rub at my chest. I had only just gotten to know Niger, and already, he’d become one of the most important people in my life. But I couldn’t hang onto him and risk his neck.
Fyrian let out a smoky sigh. “He’s right, you know. There was a case at the Ogre Senate where a witch ran away with a half-ogre. They got married in Volcania, but the baby killed her. When the witch’s family tracked the half-ogre down, the Magistratus had him executed.”
Swallowing hard, I followed Rufus up the stairs.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “It is like I said to you the first time the witches arrested you. Your mother may not be the Queen of Steppe, but your father is the Prince Regent, who protects you from your recklessness. Even a member of a Noble House will not be immune to the Bluebeard wrath if anything untoward happened between you and my brother.”
The truth in his words hit like a lead anchor. Both Mother and Father had killed people who had hurt me. “I-I’ll talk to him.”
“And if Niger decides you are worth the risk?”
“I won’t let this continue, but please… give me time to break things off nicely.”
“Very well.” He strode ahead in silence, leaving me trailing behind, dread and despair wallowing within my gut.
At the Healer’s Academy building, a receptionist directed us to a hospital room much like the one I had stayed in when I’d contracted Fyrian’s clearscale symptoms. We both paused at the door before knocking. My frantic heart shook my bones to the marrow. What if Asproceros had maimed Niger, or even killed him?
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