“Here’s what I don’t understand,” said Stafford. “Why doesn’t Asproceros just steal the dragonets and leave? That’s what I’d do if I were a poacher.”
“I think Madam Maritimus has locked down all the wards. After the way people have snuck in and out, they’re probably closing off any of their former weaknesses.”
Stafford rubbed his chin. “So, he’s trapped?”
“Which means the dragonets are still here.”
“Then why doesn’t one of the bigger dragons call out to them?”
“They already tried,” said Fyrian. “It’s like they’re asleep.”
I relayed the message to Stafford, who shook his head. A huff of frustration pushed its way out of my lungs. “Whoever stole the dragonets is far more cunning than the average criminal.”
“Like a spriggan.” He picked up an oversized daisy from the lawn and plucked off a petal.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at what the imps got King Magnar to do. All they wanted were dragon eggs, but they set up diversions everywhere.” He picked another petal from his daisy.
I nodded. “The attack on Her Majesty just before she entered the wards. They knew she would have to get them lowered to let Prince Vanus into Mount Fornax and take her to Elphame.”
“Giving the spriggan enough time to move the eggs into the royal carriage and disappear,” added Stafford.
“Right. And the locust attack on the capital and the rioting witches were diversions so no-one would notice Astri and Botilda breaking into the palace.”
He shuddered. “They’re worse than their brother.”
I shrugged. “I prefer less complicated villains.”
Fyrian swooped down and landed beside a weeping willow. We both rushed over to her.
“What’s wrong, Fyri?” I asked out loud.
“You two are talking about spriggans when the real culprit is that devious wild dragon.”
“What’s she saying?” whispered Stafford.
I told him, and he shook his head.
“Why’s he disagreeing?” asked Fyrian.
I huffed and repeated her question. Why couldn’t all mages have mental connections to dragons? It would save me from relaying messages.
“You don’t expect that wild dragon to think Mount Fornax is a paradise, do you?”
“Why not?” I asked. “It’s better than living out in the wild among the angry villagers and dragon slayers.”
Fyrian gave a sharp nod of agreement.
Stafford shook his head. “Neither of you have ever lived in an institution, so you don’t get it.”
I put my hands on my hips. “What are you talking about?”
“We get new boys coming into the orphanage all the time. Some of arrive them half-starved, living like gutter rats all their lives. With all the ogresses abducting human boys for breeding, you’d think they’d be relieved for the protection, right?”
Both Fyrian and I nodded. Mother had told me Aunt Cendrilla had set up the orphanage after encountering a woman trying to sell her baby boy in the Capital Market. If Stafford’s good looks and healthy physique was a barometer of the level of care given at the Perrault orphanages, it seemed a good place to live.
“Your father seems to think he’s a worthy suitor,” said Fyrian.
I turned to Stafford, pretending not to hear her. “You’re saying the boys don’t like having a home?”
“Of course, they don’t.” He plucked another petal from his daisy. “Too many rules. You can’t leave the grounds unless it’s for an official outing, can’t eat outside meal and snack times, can’t fight, can’t do lots of things a boy can get up to out in the wild.”
“Can’t starve, either,” I muttered.
Fyrian let out a snort of smoke. “Ungrateful wretches. Auntie Rilla is good to those orphans!”
“True.” Stafford inclined his head.
“Do any of them run away?” I asked.
“They try, but the orphanage is run by retired witches and former Queen’s Guardsmen.”
“Did Stafford think it was a prison, then?” asked Fyrian.
I passed on her question.
He smiled. “It was home to me, but I can’t even remember when I was brought over.”
Stafford bent down to pick up a stone. He threw it across the water, and it landed with a thunk. I found a larger stone and hurled mine as hard as I could, landing mine a few feet beyond his. He snickered and picked up a stone about the same size as mine and threw it double the original distance.
“It’s not fair,” I muttered. “You’re so much stronger than me.”
He shrugged. “You’re the better swordsman and the better mage. Look at how Captain Pristis stopped that fight between Rufus and Muti with his bare hands. He’s only a quarter, like us.”
“I hope he teaches us how he did that.”
“Me too. Something like that could come in useful when we’re fighting Asproceros.”
I glared into the lake, where Stafford’s ripple still radiated through the water. “Or the wild dragon.”
“I still don’t think it’s him.” Stafford sat at the base of the weeping willow. “Dragons don’t need gold coins, kitchen knives, or any of the other things that have gone missing around Mount Fornax.”
“Actually, that’s a really good point,” said Fyrian. “Do you have your pipe? I want to hear some music.”
“It’s at the palace with the rest of my things.”
Her head drooped. “Oh.”
“I can whistle if you like.”
She lay flat on her belly. “Go on.”
I whistled a tune I used to play for Chrysus whenever he would appear in my room. It was a lullaby about a baby rocking on a tree top. My cousin would transform my room into a forest and act out the baby’s adventure, making himself float through the air onto my lap. It was fun the first couple of times, but I would often need Aunt Cendrilla to come and rescue me from his persistent demands to repeat the lullaby.
Fyrian’s eyelids drooped, and she exhaled a sulfur-scented sigh.
“Are you falling asleep?” I asked.
“No… just relaxing,” she murmured. “You should carve a pipe and play it for me.”
I continued whistling. “Maybe someone can lend me theirs.”
“Even better.” Her eyes shut.
Moments later, our bond went quiet, and I stopped whistling. Stafford’s stomach rumbled and he patted his belly. “Breakfast time, I think.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “See you, Fyri.”
She let out two perfectly formed smoke rings.
By the time we returned to the mess hall, the place was packed with alert warriors, sitting around circular tables over breakfast. The rich, spicy scent of cooked meat and eggs hung in the air, making my mouth water. Master Torreo scowled in the middle of the griddle station, a barrier between the fighting chefs who busied themselves at his sides.
“What are you getting?” I asked.
I glanced to the right where Eyepatch stood between a tureen of porridge and a giant bowl of chopped fruit. “A bit of both, I think.”
After getting half a plate of eggs and onions from the griddle, I went to get the fruit from Eyepatch.
“Odd combination this morning,” he said.
“I had chicory.”
He gave me a knowing nod. “The way my nephew makes it gets the appetite going.”
I sat a seat away from Rufus, who raised his head. “Have you spoken to my brother?”
“Not yet,” I whispered.
“We bumped into Albens,” said Stafford. “He told us all about your brother’s recovery. Congratulations.”
Rufus gave him a weak smile, and I dipped my head and stuffed forkfuls of omelet into my mouth. Niger and I hadn’t done anything that would get him executed, but I appreciated Rufus’ worry for his brother.
“You’re late.” Roseate stood beside our table with her hands on her hips.
“For what?”
>
“I’m taking you to Master Solum’s to work the fields.”
I gave her a blank look.
“Locust damage. Remember?”
I speared a piece of melon and popped it into my mouth. Just before the plague, Roseate had taken us close to the dwellings of the black dragons, where Master Jesper had introduced us to the largomorphus rex. That lecture had been derailed by witches recognizing the troll from the atrocities it had committed under orders by the Snow Queen. Since then, the plague, the loyalty elixir, and the trials had taken up all our time.
She spun on her heel. “I’m going without you.”
“Wait,” I said.
She glared over her shoulder. “What?”
“None of the other cadets are going yet. Can you give us a bit more time?”
“Very well.” She stuck her nose in the air. “But if you’re not there in ten minutes, I’m leaving.”
Rufus harrumphed. “Classes do not start until eight. We have plenty of time.”
Angry, red blotches appeared on Roseate’s face, which twisted with indignation, then she stormed out of the mess hall.
“All that talk of Asproceros must dredge up memories of her dead betrothed,” I murmured.
“Paniscus was betrothed to four witches.” Rufus took a bite of his warthog steak. “They all found out about his treachery and teamed up to curse him. That is why he slept with his dragon.”
A mouthful of spicy omelet burned a path down my throat, and I grabbed my mug of ale and swallowed several gulps. “Really?”
He raised a shoulder. “Quarter-ogres get their pick of witches.”
I gave Stafford a kick under the table and raised my brows. There was no reason why he needed to be skittish around Evolene. His cheeks turned pink, and he shoveled a huge chunk of omelet into his mouth.
After eating, we took the Fornax Flying Float to a cornfield decimated by locusts. Brown stalks stood leafless like emaciated saplings, swaying in the breeze. Only a few plants of corn with purple kernels were left intact.
Master Solum stood on a wooden trunk shaped like a podium, his dark features grim. “Until the attack of the locusts, Mount Fornax was self-sufficient for corn and even used its excesses to produce a strong spirit for sale in the Capital Market.”
Someone raised their hands. “What about that purple corn?”
“The locusts didn’t seem to like it, so we can assume it’s resistant.”
“Will you give it to the brewers?”
He shook his head. “We will harvest the seeds, prepare the soil and replant. Hopefully, it produces the same quality alcohol.”
I made a mental note to write to Father and ask if Mount Bluebeard grew purple corn. The agricultural witches had most probably worked hard to repair all the damage caused by King Magnar’s locusts, but it didn’t hurt to share useful information.
Master Solum spread his arms wide. “Today, we will remove the stalks and prepare the land for planting sweet peas.”
“What about the corn?” someone asked.
“Our crops are rotated, so we will plant that somewhere else.”
We all set to work, pulling out stalks of corn and piling them on the side of the field. Even the witches got to do a bit of manual work, as Master Solum said it was good for a warrior to become in tune with the earth instead of relying on magic.
Partway through the class, the riders broke out into cheers. I turned to find Muti stepping out of a Fornax Flying Float with a grin.
Master Solum beamed. “Congratulations on a speedy recovery, Cadet Pavo. Are you well enough to work with the others?”
He flexed his biceps. “I am stronger than ever. If I catch the rogue who attacked me from behind, he will be the one who needs a healer!”
The other cadets cheered, and I smiled. It was good to see that my new friend had recovered from the attack.
“Question him,” said Fyrian.
We continued pulling out stalks, and I moved closer to the rider cadets. “Muti, did you see who did it?”
He shook his head, yanked out two stalks, and threw them over his shoulder. “The wretch crept out of the shadows and attacked from behind like a coward.”
“Could it have been a dragon?”
The riders straightened, all giving me odd looks. Muti pulled on one of his beard braids. “Why would you ask that?”
“I have a theory. Everyone who got attacked from behind did something that a dragon would perceive as bad. Niger’s brother took his dragon to the Cursed Sea, where he got bitten by a sea serpent.”
“Yes…” said Muti.
“One of the grooms locked a dragon into solitary confinement for his meals.”
He wrapped his beard braid around his finger. “Right…”
“And you punched Rubens the rapier red.”
“In self-defense,” said Muti.
His dark-haired friend shook his head. “You think there is a dragon avenger, sneaking about and righting wrongs?”
I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re making it sound like something out of a scroll.”
“It is Asproceros,” said Muti. “He stole my lucky coin.”
“Now you believe me when I said I did not take it,” snarled Gobi.
Master Solum cleared his throat. “I’m all for talking to make the work go faster, but you boys need to pick up your pace.”
“Sorry, sir.” I pulled a stalk out by the roots and set it aside.
“Besides,” said Master Solum. “Dragons who attack warriors or civilians without due cause are punished. Rubens was the subject of a Council of Dragons meeting. He is hereby suspended from working with cadets until he changes his attitude.”
Muti nodded. “As long as he got what he deserved.”
I dipped my head. What about flying around with Captain Caiman? Someone needed to tell the Council that Rubens had already flouted their ruling.
“That was before the meeting,” said Fyrian. “He’s not allowed to attend classes anymore.”
We continued clearing the field, debating on who was causing the spate of thefts and attacks. Nobody believed in my theory that a dragon might be causing all the chaos in Mount Fornax, and when I brought up the wild dragon, a few of the tamers laughed and repeated Master Fosco’s explanation of the double layer of runes preventing teleportation to and from the cage.
Master Solum shook his head. “The wild dragon will be assessed in the next Council of Dragons meeting. If he’s willing to become a citizen of Mount Fornax, he will submit himself for the rehabilitation scheme.”
“Is that anything like the Dragon Master Academy?” I asked.
“Very much so, except backed by security and magic.” He surveyed the empty field. “Well done, cadets. The field is ready for the next stage. Everyone, stand back.”
We all walked to the edges of the field as two black dragons flew down. One of them was Pruna Splendor, the first dragon to eat a largomorphus rex, and the first dragon to have fallen to the plague. The other was one of the dragons whose dwellings I had mucked out as my punishment for supposedly using dark fairy magic during my duel with King Magnar. She had been too depressed over the situation with the stolen dragon eggs to make conversation.
They both landed on opposite corners of the field and stamped a foreleg. The ground beneath us rippled, and the soil turned itself over and formed planting lines.
Everybody, including me, gasped. “I didn’t know black dragons were so precise.”
“They can do anything with earth,” Fyrian replied.
“Ah!” Master Solum clapped his hands together. “And here’s the dung.”
Byrrus approached from behind, pulling a giant wagon of steaming dragon dung. Beside him walked King Magnar.
I blinked. “Why isn’t he riding on Byrrus’ back?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be associated with a dung dragon.”
“You were a dung dragon once.”
“That’s because I was helping you out.”
I smiled
. “Thanks. It looks like Byrrus might be warming to his new bondmate.”
She sniffed. “They’re welcome to each other!”
Some of the cadets snickered at King Magnar, and others called him names. I stared at a spot in the middle of the field. The sooner Evolene and Master Jesper worked out the spriggan poison, the sooner her new guardian could regain his throne and leave Mount Fornax.
Master Solum clapped his hands together. “None of that mockery, please. We’re all spreading dung on the fields.”
He stepped down from his podium and flipped a lid, revealing dozens of shovels. The entire class groaned, and each cadet trudged over to take a tool. I grabbed mine and strode to the wagon. Byruss tipped it over, creating a giant mound of dung. Then he flew away, presumably to fetch another full wagon.
An irritating blond figure sidled up to me. “Cadet Bluford, may we speak?”
“No.” I stuck my shovel in the dung and scooped out a huge, steaming heap.
“I want to thank you for what you did. No one has ever committed such an act of selflessness—”
“Don’t act as if I did it for you.” I dropped the dung at his feet.
He stared down at his dirty boots, not saying anything for a while. I exhaled a breath of relief and turned back to the dung pile. Maybe he would get bored of trying to speak to me and go away.
“Despite everything,” he said in a small voice. “I still hold you in high esteem.”
“That’s why you tried to enslave me, my friends, and everyone else in Mount Fornax. Well, there’s someone going around hurting people who have committed wrongs against dragons. If I were you, I wouldn’t venture far from Byrrus or your sisters. You’re going to need all the protection you can get!”
He stepped back, face pale, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I… I thank you for the warning.”
I rolled my eyes. Why did he twist everything I said and did into a personal favor?
Chapter 14
Master Solum kept us working all day and had even arranged for servers to fly in with a yeoman’s lunch of granite cheese, smoked buffalo, melon tomatoes, and pickled melon rinds presented in the kind of bread rolls they served at breakfast. King Magnar worked in silence, shoveling dung over the field and casting me glances when he thought I wasn’t looking. Hopefully, the wretch would heed my warning and get his sisters to guard his back and fortify his home. The last thing Mount Fornax needed was a diplomatic incident.
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