Pariah of Dragons

by Cordelia Castel

  Pariah of Dragons

  Dragon Mage Academy Book Six

  Cordelia Castel

  Copyright © 2019 by Cordelia Castel.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.CordeliaCastel.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Dragon Mage Academy

  Cordelia Castel’s Books

  Chapter 1

  Last night, if anyone had asked about the worst part about yesterday’s adventure, I would have mentioned the sea serpent or King Magnar’s sisters. Now, I would choose the fifteen hours of jailhouse tedium. I lay on the hard mattress of my cell with my hand over my brow, a weak shield from the bright sunlight. It bounced off the translucent pebbles on the sandstone ceiling making them glint like encrusted jewels. I counted one-hundred-and-twenty-three, but there were probably twice that amount digging into my back.

  The quiet flap of wings and the clink of tiny claws landing on the windowsill told me a bluebird had arrived. I sat up, rested my forearms on my thighs and exhaled a long breath. Evolene was safe and under the protection of King Magnar’s diplomatic immunity. Niger, Stafford, and Master Jesper returned unhurt. It was time to be grateful, not mournful. Eventually, someone would have to let me out.

  “Are you ready to talk, now?” Mother flew down from the windowsill and perched on my shoulder.

  “Careful, Alba,” said Fyrian. “Someone might be eavesdropping outside.”

  I swallowed. While I could trust Mother to keep my secrets, I didn’t trust Father or Master Fosco to not lurk in the courtyard, listening out for my confession. “You’re right. I’ll have to lie to her until I can be sure we’re alone.”

  She gave me a gentle peck on the shoulder, her way of telling me she was waiting for a reply.

  I stared at the table beyond the bars of my cell and rubbed my empty stomach. “About what?”

  “The Witch General’s accusation. How did you break into the Magical Militia and rescue the Galloway girl while you were in this jailhouse?”

  “I don’t know what she was talking about.”

  With a clack of her beak, she swiped her velvety wing against the side of my neck. “Don’t lie to me, Alba Bluebeard. You may not have abducted those witches and left them to die, but you know how Evolene escaped. Orson is furious you went so far to help a Galloway. And I’m disappointed you would associate with such scum.”

  I stiffened, ignoring the cold dread tightening in my belly. Of all the people in the Known World, I had thought Mother would be more accepting toward my friend.

  The door swung open, and she flew back to the windowsill. Niger strode into the jailhouse, holding a foaming mug. In the sunlight, the ends of his long, wild hair and beard shone like burnished copper. My heart made a happy hop and skip, but I suppressed the smile curving my lips. Mother had pecked him a few days ago for that kiss, and she was probably looking out for signs that I was still consorting with him.

  His gaze flicked to the windowsill, and his steps faltered. “Did you know there are six Militia witches guarding you?”

  I cringed. Fyrian had been right about the eavesdroppers. “The Witch General must have sent them. She thinks I broke into the Magical Militia and rescued Evolene.”

  “What? That is impossible.” Niger’s tone sounded too casual to convey shock. He frowned at the yellow barrier around my cell. “I brought you some mead.”

  “You’d better have it.” I angled my voice toward the bars of my window. “Since there’s no way anyone can get through that barrier.”

  He grunted and sat on the table opposite. “When will they let you out?”

  I raised a shoulder. “As soon as they realize that I couldn’t have done any of those things.”

  “You do not have the magic to break through their wards.” He took a sip from the tankard.

  “Exactly!” I glanced at the window. The sides of two heads were visible through the bars. I flicked my head to Niger, who nodded. “I’ve been in this cell since they arrested Fyrian and me.”

  Mother hopped on the windowsill, flapping her emerald-blue wings. The tiny, red feathers on her breast fluffed out with indignation. “You’re a terrible liar, and that half-ogre of yours is a bad influence.”

  I shot her a filthy look. Not all half-ogres were rogues who married one sister while keeping the other as a concubine. Before I could reply, a soft knock reverberated on the door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  It opened a crack, and Eyepatch slipped through, clutching a wicker hamper to his chest. The slender man’s eyes darted around the jailhouse as though looking for a place to settle. He gave Niger a nod and a muttered good morning and stepped further inside as though worried he was intruding.

  Niger stood. “Flying safety class is about to start. I will ask one of the witches to lower the barrier for Mr. Cobbs on my way out.”

  “Thanks.”

  He strode to the door. Just before opening it, he gave me a dazzling grin of white teeth and sparkling, obsidian eyes. “When you get out, I will teach you drogott.”

  Excitement fluttered through my insides, warm and tingly and full of anticipation. Would he kiss me again when we were alone? I’d have to make sure no bluebirds trailed us this time. Mother clacked her beak with disapproval, and I pressed my lips together, suppressing another smile.

  “She’s just trying to protect you,” said Fyrian.

  Her words hit me like a splash of water, and my jaw clenched. “Do you think he’s a bad influence, too?”

  “Not really, but you have to see things from her point of view. It can’t be nice having your mate spend all his time with another female. Niger swaggers about a lot like your father.”

  I scowled down at my boots. “No, he—”

  “After catching you two kissing, she thinks you’re headed down the same path as her.”

  “But Niger isn’t like that!”

  Fyrian’s side of the bond fell silent, and I swallowed. What did she see in Niger that I couldn’t? I shook my head. Neither she nor Mother knew Niger well enough to compare him to Father, and I wouldn’t let their words poison my mind.

  The jailhouse door swung open, and a squat witch with ginger pigtails and ruddy cheeks stepped in. Straightening, Eyepatch gave her a tight smile and backed toward the table. She stuck her nose in the air and bustled past. I narrowed my eyes. It was typical of Magical Militia witches to act like they were above non-magical folk.

  “Your mother’s problem is that she doesn’t know Niger,” said Fyrian.

  “What are you saying?” I asked. “I should help them get to know each other?”

  She gave me a mental shrug. “Don’t ask me. I can’t see the point of courting someone who can never be your mate.”

  “You wish to eat breakfast?” asked the witch.

  I pushed myself off the cot. “Yes, please.”

  With a flash of her staff, the yellow barrier vanished. The witch stepped aside and cast Eyepatch a cool stare. “You may place the basket on the ground.”

  Muttering his thanks, Eyepatch did as he was t
old, then the witch pointed her staff at the basket and slid it across the floor into my cell. The barrier snapped into place, then she gave herself a nod of approval and walked toward the exit without a word.

  I eyed the basket, mouth watering. If it contained anything like the fare Eyepatch had helped Evolene create that time the four of us picnicked, it would be worth having slept on a hard prison cot all night.

  “Go on, then.” Eyepatch lowered himself onto the floor and sat in front of my cell with his legs crossed. “Open it.”

  I lifted the lid, and the warm scent of cream filled my nostrils, reminding me of more pleasant times. Mostly sitting with Stafford over a bowl of porridge while he listened to my latest theory on the goings-on in Mount Fornax. The basket’s interior felt as large as a breakfast table and contained two covered platters, surrounded by smaller dishes and a flagon of kumquat juice. I pulled out glass bowls containing small pieces of fruit, seeds, and chopped nuts.

  Eyepatch shrugged. “For the bird at your window. There’s enough for her comrades.”

  Mother flew down and perched on the edge of one of the bowls. “I like this human. What’s his name?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cobbs,” I said.

  The smile he gave me was gruff. “I may be no warrior, but I earn my keep feeding the heroes of Mount Fornax. And from what I’ve seen, you’re soon to become one of the greatest.”

  Happiness, as warm and sweet as his coconut porridge, spread through my insides, up my neck, and into my cheeks. He’d probably seen my duel with King Magnar and gotten the impression I was some kind of champion. Dipping my head, I muttered, “I don’t know about that.”

  “You’re a good person,” he said. “Brave, too, much like your mother.”

  “I’m her mother, not Cendrilla,” snapped the bluebird through a beakful of nuts.

  Fortunately, everyone who wasn’t a fairy or mated to one would hear her complaint as a tweet. I gave her feathery head a pat of apology then pulled out the larger platter and removed its metal cover, revealing a thin breakfast roll.

  Eyepatch frowned. “Sorry, there’s not any dragonberry chili to go with that. A whole barrel of it went missing last night.”

  I picked up a little jug of tomato and onion relish. The chili in Mount Fornax was much too fiery for the palate of most quarter-ogres, and my half-fairy sensibilities didn’t care much for it, either. “This one’s my favorite.”

  He beamed. “Enjoy.”

  I bit into my breakfast roll, and an explosion of flavor invaded my mouth. No wonder Stafford loved to eat them. Boar sausage, orvoli omelet, and a mixture of delicious condiments mingled to create the most wonderful breakfast I had ever eaten.

  Eyepatch laughed. “I thought you might warm to my breakfast rolls if I made the ingredients thinner. Most of the boys here like bulk, but you’re different.”

  I froze, stomach muscles tightening. “Huh?”

  Eyepatch puffed out his chest. “Cobbs never cooked for royalty before. Master Torreo always makes the food for the dignitaries… not that I’m complaining.”

  My insides relaxed. He still had no idea of my secret. “Um… The rumor about me being a Prince of the United Kingdom of Seven isn’t true.”

  His single eye blinked closed for longer than usual before opening. It might have been a wink, but I couldn’t be sure. I took another bite of the breakfast roll fit for royalty and sighed. The more I denied the rumor, the more people believed I was one of Aunt Cendrilla’s twins.

  “Do you know how I lost my eye?” He pointed at the black patch that took up half the left side of his face.

  My throat flexed. Right now, I couldn’t cope with a gory story. “No?”

  “Competing for Her Majesty’s hand.”

  Mother’s head shot up from her bowl of chopped fruit. “Ha! I remember him now.”

  I glanced down at her, a question on my lips, but the door opened, and a pair of quarter-ogre warriors stepped inside. They wore the burgundy leather of mages and each held a halberd six-and-a-half feet tall. Behind them entered a pair of militia witches with staffs as large as the one used by the Witch General. My throat dried, and I grabbed the flagon of kumquat juice and downed several gulps.

  “Albert Bluford?” said the shorter of the mages. He wore his long, blond hair in a single braid woven into his beard.

  “Y-yes?” I asked.

  “Time for your interrogation.”

  My heart bucked against my ribcage before trying to bolt out of my chest. If the Witch General was here with truth elixirs, we were doomed.

  Eyepatch spluttered. “He hasn’t finished his breakfast yet!”

  The taller mage, who wore his gray hair cropped close to his scalp, thumped the butt of his halberd on the floor. I suppose that was his silent way of saying he would listen to no excuses.

  The witches stepped out from behind the mages and took their time lowering the barrier of my cell. If my pulse wasn’t thrashing in my ears in time with my galloping heart and making every bone in my body rattle, I might have rolled my eyes at their fanfare. The squat witch from earlier had removed the barrier with a mere flick of her staff.

  “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 lu
ngs. 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?”