The Last Dragon Charmer #3

by Laurie McKay

  Caden, however, wasn’t bound by orders yet. He squared his shoulders. “No,” he said.

  Rath Dunn leaned back. He raised his brows. “No?”

  And since both Caden and Rath Dunn knew this was a test, Caden said, “That order, I don’t have to follow.” He nodded to Scribe Trevor. “I won’t harm a noble Razzonian library scribe. You can’t order me to harm others.” At least, not until the half-moon filled the Ashevillian sky. Caden kept the last part to himself.

  Rath Dunn’s surprise wore off quickly. “It’s something I can do, though,” he said, and his voice came out low and mean. “Harm others.”

  With as much calm and respect as he could muster, he looked to Ms. Primrose. “Let Scribe Trevor teach.” Although she was mad, it seemed smart to remain polite until he found words to regain her better graces. “That is my choice, ma’am.”

  “Dear,” Ms. Primrose said in a tone that suggested he was slow and pitiable, “that’s for the principal to decide. Not me.” She shook her head and added pointedly, “Not you.”

  Rath Dunn looked almost giddy. He gestured to Scribe Trevor. “We already have enough Razzonian pests under contract.”

  Caden felt his eyes widen. If Scribe Trevor wasn’t put under contract, Ms. Primrose would devour him. “Wait!”

  Rath Dunn was the only one who could save him.

  “Wait!” Caden said. He needed to think of something quickly. “I’ll trade you information if—”

  “I don’t need any information from you.”

  What could tempt Rath Dunn? What could Caden tell him that he didn’t know? “I’ll tell you about my curse.”

  That gave Rath Dunn pause. He peered at Caden. And for a moment, he did look tempted. “That would rob me of the joy of discovery.” He motioned to Scribe Trevor and spoke to Ms. Primrose. “For you.”

  She wouldn’t really eat Scribe Trevor, would she?

  Ms. Primrose tugged on the waist of her dress and sniffed irritably. “When I ran the school,” she said, “I was careful not to overindulge.” She turned to Rath Dunn with a cold glare. “If I eat too much, I lose my compassion.”

  That seemed to excite Rath Dunn. “But you still follow our contract?”

  Ms. Primrose had contracts with all the banished villains. If they didn’t follow her rules, if they failed to follow the laws of the land or failed to teach their classes, she terminated them. Literally. Rath Dunn had used the contract to his advantage, to gain control, and now he ran the school.

  His question about whether she followed her contract sounded more like a statement, like something he already knew but was triple-checking. “If I didn’t follow it,” Ms. Primrose said, “I’d have eaten you last spring. And I’d have taken time to savor my meal.”

  Then she set her gaze on Trevor. The room grew cold. Her eyes took on a reptilian sheen. Her pupils became pinpricks, then elongated into slits. Her nails became sharp and long. Caden felt like he was in the presence of something massive.

  Oh no.

  Mr. Faunt and Mrs. Grady let go of Scribe Trevor and scurried to the back of the room. Scribe Trevor lunged for Caden. He turned his head from front to side to back, from Rath Dunn to Ms. Primrose to the evil math minions by the shelves, as he tried to focus on the danger. He put his arm around Caden’s shoulders. It felt strange and awkward and protective. “Your Highness, you need to get away from here.”

  That wasn’t accurate. “We need to get away.” Caden pulled him toward the door. “We’ll get away together, then home together. Run!” Scribe Trevor didn’t budge. “That’s a royal decree.”

  Scribe Trevor’s eyes were bright. He strained to move, but he seemed to be glued to the tiled floor. “I can’t move. You run, Your Highness!”

  “I’m not the one about to be eaten!”

  That seemed to panic Scribe Trevor. He thrashed, but his feet remained in place. Caden felt dragon’s breath on his neck. He sensed sharp teeth.

  “There’s nothing you can do, prince,” Rath Dunn said. “He teaches or he becomes dragon chow. That’s how it works.” He laughed loud and hearty. “It’s hilarious.”

  “No, it’s not,” Caden snapped. He pulled with all his strength. “We have to go. We’ll stop the villains. Together. You, me, Jasan, Brynne . . .”

  Whap. Caden flew back. He hit the oak door with a loud thunk. Mrs. Grady and Mr. Faunt stood against the bookshelves. In the middle of the room, Scribe Trevor looked toward the ceiling. His mouth was agape. His face pale. A jaw with sharp teeth and a blue tongue hovered above him.

  Caden scurried to his feet. “Trevor!”

  Trevor snapped his gaze to Caden. “Something’s amiss in Razzon,” he screamed. “I found runes, near the river, for ritual contact on Archer’s day. They blamed me, but it wasn’t—”

  Freezing wind rushed against Caden. He put his hand to his face to protect it. There was a sound like a jaw snapping shut. Caden felt his breath leave him. That sound didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything.

  Caden lowered his hand. He started to run to Scribe Trevor, to try to move him, or save him, or something. But all that was in front of Caden was a pair of boots. Maybe Scribe Trevor had been pushed out of them.

  Caden looked behind him, to the right, to the left. Ms. Primrose still stood beside the desk, licking her lips. Rath Dunn still leaned on it. Mr. Faunt and Mrs. Grady huddled near the shelves. Scribe Trevor was nowhere.

  “Where is he?” Caden said, and his voice cracked.

  Rath Dunn wore a wide smile. His eyes creased at the sides. “Even you, son of Axel, can’t be that slow.” He pushed off the desk and kicked at one of the boots. It fell over heavily. Rath Dunn looked up at Ms. Primrose. “You left some.”

  “I don’t eat feet,” she said. “How crass do you think I am?”

  Rath Dunn crinkled up his nose. “I guess I’ll have to have Creedly clean this up.”

  Caden looked at the boots, then at Rath Dunn, then at Ms. Primrose. She brought a small handkerchief out from her sleeve and dabbed the side of her mouth.

  “What did you do?” Caden said.

  “I gobbled him up, dear.”

  What? Caden stared at her.

  “Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

  “How could you do that?”

  She looked insulted. “It’s in my nature, dear. Those banished who don’t serve the school and those who stop serving the school, I eat. You know the rules. You know what I am.” She pulled at her dress. The fabric looked snug. “Normally, I would take time to savor my food, but I made it quick. That’s a favor I didn’t owe you or your scribe.”

  Rath Dunn’s eyes were wide, his smile gleeful. Truly, he seemed to enjoy carnage. “My marvelous Ms. Primrose, I hope you enjoyed your meal.”

  Caden looked to where Scribe Trevor had stood. How could this have happened? He stepped back. He didn’t want to be in the office anymore. He didn’t want to try to charm dragons and outwit despots. He wanted his father to show up and fix this. His hands felt cold, his legs weak.

  Twelve people had been banished this summer. Scribe Trevor was the most recent. He’d been devoured. Who were the other eleven? Had they been eaten, too? Was that why Ms. Primrose looked chubby—Rath Dunn was feeding her the banished? Did he want her to lose her compassion? Perhaps she was easier to control without it.

  Ms. Primrose released a dainty burp. “Oh my,” she said. “Excuse me.”

  But there was no excuse. Innocent lives should mean more than her rules; justice should mean more than any contract. Caden felt his heart pound. He needed to get away. He could stand it no longer. He turned, threw open the door, and ran.

  “Get back to class, boy!” Rath Dunn yelled after him.

  Caden didn’t go back to class. He bolted down the long hall. The red paint made it seem narrower, more suffocating. Ms. Primrose had eaten Trevor. In one bite like he was a Winterlands juiceberry.

  And Rath Dunn had been amused.

  All his life, Caden had wanted to
slay a dragon. But it wasn’t until this very moment that he understood how dangerous dragons were.

  Caden sped up, turned right, and charged toward the school’s exit. When he flung open the door, the humid heat of the Ashevillian summer washed over him. He hesitated there, between the cold, red-painted school halls and the dizzying lush green of the outdoors.

  If he left, he’d be truant, guilty of skipping school. Ms. Primrose once threatened to eat Caden for that. The warning felt more real now than it had before. But it shouldn’t. In exchange for Caden finding out who had caused accidents at the school last spring, she’d agreed not to eat Caden, his classmates, or his brother Jasan. If only Caden had thought to extend that pact to his people, to scribes like Trevor.

  Ms. Primrose couldn’t eat Caden, so what could she do? Give him detention? Future Elite Paladins like Caden weren’t thwarted by detention and, for all Caden cared, the school dragon and math despot-turned-principal could burn in the eternal flames of the Autumnlands Firefields. Caden wasn’t staying in school; he wasn’t following their rules. He dashed into the sun. He needed his horse and the wind and a fast ride up a steep slope.

  Sir Horace resided at the horse prison—the locals called it a “rescue”—during the day. Most nights he escaped from his stable. There were reports of him on the news sometimes. Townspeople would send in pictures of Sir Horace stealing apples from an orchard or running playfully with mares from a neighboring farm. No doubt foals would soon be born all around Asheville that possessed Sir Horace’s majesty despite the plain-brown hair of the regional horses.

  Caden made his way to the rescue and crouched near the edge of the trees. His brow itched with sweat, a feeling he was still not used to. The Winterlands Mountains were never hot; they were never green. They were cold and icy and tall like mountains should be.

  Sir Horace was larger than the other horses. His mane shone white in the summer sun. His hair, the color of dim-lit frost, was as magnificent now as it was in the winter. He stood in a shady spot near the stables, his noble tongue hanging from the side of his mouth, drool plopping like ice beetle dung onto the grass beneath him.

  Sir Horace was Caden’s battle partner and friend. He came when needed. When Caden whistled, Sir Horace immediately perked up his ears. Then he let loose a mighty whinny, cantered for the fence, and soared over it.

  Caden stood from his hiding spot as Sir Horace approached. He grabbed Sir Horace’s mane and pulled himself onto his steed’s back. Then he and Sir Horace flew through the forest. Not even the hot summer haze could slow them down.

  Later, when the sun was low and the intense afternoon heat had shifted to the steaminess of evening, Caden sat on a moss-covered log while Sir Horace drank from a stream.

  In his pocket, Caden’s phone buzzed. He ignored it and rested his chin on his hands. The forest was green all around him; insects chirped and water trickled. His racing thoughts slowed and unmuddled as evening eased over the mountains.

  Caden realized his upper right arm ached, and he slid off his coat to see why. Enchanted with warmth and protection, his coat wasn’t magicked to keep him cool. His Ashevillian short-sleeved T-shirt—the blue one with printed snowflakes—was wet from his sweat, the right sleeve brown and sticky with blood from the reopened slash on his arm.

  The wound had been made months ago by the blood dagger, an evil and enchanted blade brandished by Rath Dunn. Any wound the weapon made would reopen in its presence and never truly heal. Caden’s bloody sleeve meant Rath Dunn had his blade in the office today.

  Caden stared at his arm, surprised. He’d been so preoccupied by all the curse testing and scribe eating that he hadn’t noticed. Or had the wound become such a normal part of him, he didn’t register it anymore?

  He held his coat in his hands and traced the only imperfection in the wool: the rip the blood dagger had made when it first cut him. The events of the afternoon ran through his mind once more. Rath Dunn had ordered Ms. Primrose to eat Scribe Trevor and she’d done it. “She is a dragon, Sir Horace,” Caden said.

  Sir Horace turned back, water dripping from his nose, and snorted.

  “Yes, I knew she was a dragon already, but I don’t think I understood what that meant until now.”

  Of course, Ms. Primrose wasn’t any dragon. Normal dragons were side effects of bad magic. They spawned from the hate and envy connected to it. Those were the kind of dragons common in the Greater Realm, the kind Caden had been sent to slay. Ms. Primrose was different, unique.

  She wasn’t a proper old lady who sometimes turned into a dragon. She was the reverse—a powerful Elderdragon that often choose to look human, one with no remorse for eating someone. He knew that, and he’d still misunderstood

  “She is a dragon,” Caden said again, and clenched his fists. “And Elite Paladins slay dragons.” Why had he wanted to charm her? Why had he felt sorry for her when she lost her school? No more. “If she and I are to be enemies, so be it.”

  Sir Horace didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to dunk his muzzle back into the creek. He drank while his tail swayed back and forth. Ashevillian fireflies flickered in shadows between trees.

  Caden’s phone buzzed again. Truth be told, a future Elite Paladin could only ignore communication for so long. He pulled the device from his pocket: Eighteen missed calls. Twenty-eight missed messages.

  Suddenly, thoughts of dragons vanished as a new worry flitted across Caden’s mind.

  He’d left school early. He hadn’t told Rosa he wouldn’t be there when she came to pick him up. He hadn’t called her or anyone to tell them he’d needed time alone. It was highly possible Caden was in trouble with his foster mother. Matter of point, Caden was often in trouble with Rosa. Was that what it was like to have a mother?

  Caden had never known his mother, the second queen. No one spoke of her, not the king, not the servants, not the guards. The only sign the second queen had ever even existed was that Caden himself existed.

  It wasn’t like that with the first queen, with his brothers’ mother. Her cleverness, beauty, and kindness were celebrated. The Southern Tower stood like a monument to her. All Caden’s brothers—even treacherous Maden and surly Jasan—spoke of her with love, with reverence.

  Caden stared at the missed calls from Rosa. He’d been gone only an afternoon, and Rosa had called him so many times? If she thought Caden was dead like those in his homeland did, she’d mourn. She might even cry.

  Was the second queen somewhere in the Greater Realm mourning his death? As far as Caden knew, she’d never tried to contact him. Not once in thirteen turns. Maybe she pretended Caden never existed just as Caden’s father, brothers, and kingdom did her? But why? As he frowned at the phone, it buzzed with another call. From Brynne. This time he answered.

  “Caden?” Brynne said in a hushed voice.

  This was his phone; obviously it was him. He shook away thoughts of mothers and poor dead scribes as best he could, but his voice sounded strained when he spoke. “What is it, sorceress?”

  He heard her let out an annoyed huff. “What do you mean ‘what is it’? Where are you? Are you okay?” She paused and lowered her voice. “Hold on a minute.”

  There was noise and sounds of movement. Then Caden heard Rosa speak to Brynne. “You’ve no idea where he might be?” she said. “Brynne, if you know, you need to tell me.”

  “I really don’t,” Brynne said. And she didn’t. Caden hadn’t had a chance to tell her. Yet to Caden’s ears, even muffled over the phone, Brynne sounded guilty. If Caden were Rosa, he wouldn’t believe her.

  “If you know anything, young lady,” Rosa said, and her tone sounded like forced calm and underlying worry, “you need to tell me.”

  Then came the chime of a doorbell. More movement. A moment passed before Brynne spoke again. “You need to come back, prince. Everyone is worried. Rosa went to pick you up, and you weren’t there.”

  “You were worried?”

  “A little,” she said. “And Rosa and Officer Levin
e are very worried.” Officer Levine was the policeman who had found Caden and Brynne when they’d first been transported to Asheville and had brought them to Rosa. Brynne continued. “Prince Jasan was here earlier, and he was furious.”

  Caden wasn’t sure what to think about his brother going to Rosa’s house. “Jasan was there?”

  “He argued with Rosa.”

  Now Caden was just confused. “He doesn’t speak the local language well enough for that.”

  When Brynne next spoke, she seemed giddy. “He let me spell him to speak it.”

  Elite Paladins, especially ones as noble and brave as Jasan, didn’t rely on magic. That’s why Caden worked to learn to read and write the local language. He wouldn’t rely on tricks. Hard work was the only solution. Caden felt a brush of annoyance. “Jasan wouldn’t allow you to spell him.”

  “Well, he did.” Brynne sounded offended. “He’s not stubborn like you.” She started speaking more quickly. “I hear Rosa coming. Hurry back,” she whispered. “And best you use that gift of yours to explain why you left or you will be forever grounded, prince.”

  Then she hung up and Caden sat in twilight’s quiet on his mossy log.

  His gift of speech? While it gave him the ability to speak any language he heard, it supposedly had a deeper aspect. It also gave him the ability to charm people, to convince them to do what he wished. Had that part of his gift ever worked, though? People sometimes did what Caden asked; but people sometimes did what Brynne and Tito and vile Rath Dunn asked as well, and none of them was gifted with speech.

  As such, he wasn’t sure what he could say to calm Rosa.

  Sir Horace trotted over and nuzzled Caden with his wet nose.

  “It seems like I’m in great trouble, Sir Horace,” Caden said, but truly he felt too tired to care. His arm ached; his heart ached. His stomach turned like it was full of nothing but bile, and his foster mother, the only mother he had, once more would be disappointed in him. He patted Sir Horace, then stood and swung up onto his back. “I suppose you will be in trouble with your stable as well.”