Pariah of Dragons

by Cordelia Castel

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you still making fun of him?”

  “Why not? He did the same to me. I’ll fly over and get my claws sharpened.”

  Before I could say anything further, Master Aurelius led us into a large alcove. The entire ceiling consisted of bright lamps, which shone down on waist-high, stone basins with a wide ledge that held flasks of what I assumed were cleaning elixirs. He pointed at the white overcoats on the wall. “Goggles are on the table underneath. They’ll keep you clean while you work on the dragonets.”

  The four of us each took an overcoat. I shrugged mine over my armor, and it fastened itself around my front. The arms lengthened over my wrist, wrapping around my fingers and forming waxy gloves. Its collar crept up my neck and stretched around my head to form a hood.

  “W-what is that?” Gobi pointed at me, dark blue eyes as wild as the strange dragon’s.

  I felt around my jawline, where the impermeable fabric had formed a tight seal over my skin. “It only wraps around your clothes to keep them dry.”

  “There’s a lot worse than this overcoat,” muttered Stafford.

  I grimaced at the memory of Master Jesper’s breathing parasol and its slimy, questing tentacles. Of all the troll’s inventions, that had to be the most unpleasant. Now, the largomorphus rex didn’t seem so bad.

  “That reminds me,” said Fyrian. “Solum says the population is out of control again, so he’s allowing dragons to hunt rabbit rex territory.”

  “Does everyone like them as much as you?” I asked.

  “The blacks are getting sick of them. Serves them right for hogging the delicious rabbits while rationing them out to the rest of us.”

  My lips curved into a smile, and I stared down into the stone basin. Someone as pleasant as Master Solum wouldn’t treat the other dragons so unfairly. Master Fosco wouldn’t allow it. From what I’d seen, the director ran Mount Fornax like a benevolent clan patriarch. He didn’t force the dragons to go out on missions, but he wasn’t afraid to discipline them when they broke the rules.

  “Apart from that time he thought I’d murdered someone,” Fyrian muttered.

  I sent her a mental hug. “He handled that really badly. I wonder if he was trying to cover things up from Aunt Cendrilla and the ogre senate.”

  “Probably. He acts like he’s better than us because he’s one of the oldest, the most powerful, the first to meet Auntie Rilla, and because he fought at her side in the Great Dragon Revolution.”

  “Um… Yes.” I placed a set of rimless spectacles over my eyes, then they wrapped around my head and sharpened my vision.

  Once everyone had dressed, two half-ogre grooms carried in baskets, each dripping with a slime-covered dragonet. They placed them on the ledges of our basins and left the room.

  Phoenix headed toward the alcove’s exit. “I’ll leave the cadets in your care, then.”

  “Go on,” said Master Aurelius. “I know you have things to do.” He turned to us and placed his hands on his hips. “The jugs are bottomless and contain water enchanted to change to the most agreeable temperature for dragonet. Do not overfill the basins. Not all dragonets like deep water, but the blues will swim in it all day. Some become very upset when you take them out, so don’t let them get too comfortable.”

  My dragonet stuck its little snout out through the bars securing the front of its basket and blinked up at me with eyes as turquoise as King Magnar’s. Green slime, so dark it appeared nearly black, clung to the dragonet’s scales. It wrapped a long tongue around the metal of the bar and chittered.

  “Hey.” I tapped my finger on the bar. “Don’t do that.”

  “It won’t listen to you,” said Fyrian. “This lot are newly-transformed from hatchlings. Too young and daft to do anything but mess about.”

  “Like baby dragonets, then?”

  “I suppose.”

  “How long did it take before you could deliver mail?” I lifted the bars off the cage and placed my hand in front of the dragonet to stop it from dashing forward. The dragonet sank its little teeth into the juncture of my thumb and forefinger. The gloves absorbed the impact, but I still felt some pressure. “Stop that!”

  “Auntie Rilla got Vermiculus and me about the same age, but it only took us a few months to understand things, and we were delivering messages in less than a year.”

  “Is that normal?” I gave the dragonet a sharp tap on its head, and the little creature loosened its jaws and blinked.

  “No, but dragons who stay close to high fairies develop faster. Fosco’s already looking into which dragonets to give her next. He told the Dragon Council that the four at Uncle Armin’s are doing well with the twins.”

  “It sounds like he wants the dragons to grow up faster.” I wrapped my hands around the dragonet’s squirming body, wincing at the droplets of slime splattering on my face from its leathery wings, and placed it in the basin.

  The dragonet ducked its head under the water and blew out a stream of blue flames. My brows rose. I knew blue dragons liked spending time in the Great Lake, but I’d had no idea they could breathe fire underwater. Everyone around me picked up their scrubbing brushes and got to work. I picked up a conical flask containing green liquid and examined its label, which said, ‘PLANT MATTER.’

  “There’s a shortage of master dragons,” said Fyrian. “When they get to the cocoon stage, most of them increase in size. He thinks putting dragonets with responsible fairies might result in more masters.”

  I bristled. “Mother and I didn’t get a dragonet. Why did he deem the twins a better candidate than us?”

  “Your father refused to let any stay in his mansion,” said Fyrian.

  “Oh. So, you might turn into a master dragon?”

  “Probably.”

  “Are any of them female?” I poured a few drops of green elixir on the dragonet’s head. The sludgeweed fell off its scales in thin ribbons and then dissolved into a green liquid.

  “No, and no one knows why.”

  My brows rose. If Fyrian developed a human form, she would have her pick of the males. I wrapped my hands around the dragonet’s body and poured a few drops over its shoulders. “Choose Master Solum. Or if you want someone younger, Phoenix.”

  She clacked her teeth. “I don’t make fun of you about being betrothed to Magnar.”

  I snorted. Actually, she did. On an almost daily basis, but I wasn’t about to comment when I had my hands full with a squirming dragonet.

  Master Aurelius picked up Gobi’s dragonet and demonstrated with what looked like a nail brush how to scrub its scales. “Be gentle. Everything on a dragonet is a lot more delicate than on the dragons you’re used to flying. Their scales only provide the smallest amount of protection, so you must treat them with the gentleness you would use on a kitten or lapdog.”

  “What if there are stubborn stains?” asked Rufus.

  He picked up a round-bottom flask filled with a viscous, red fluid. “This solution gets rid of most things. If you’re having problems, call me and don’t scrub.”

  After applying as much of the green liquid as possible to release the sludgeweed clinging to my dragonet’s scales, I picked up my brush, dunked it in the water and gave its back a gentle rub. Slime caught in the soft bristles of the brush, and I rinsed it out in the water. The little dragonet flapped its leathery wings, as though telling me to give them attention first. I washed the slime off its wings, and the dragonet swept them into the water, splashing me in the face.

  “You have to be firm,” said Fyrian.

  “How? They’re too delicate.”

  The dragonet lashed its tail in the water and let out a tiny plume of flames.

  “Right.” I pointed my finger into its face. “Stop that, or I’ll get rid of the water and wipe you down with rags.”

  “That’s more like it!” said Fyrian.

  The dragonet’s wings slumped, and it sat on its haunches and kept still, letting me remove the rest of the sludgeweed and all the slime encrusted in
the indentations between its scales.

  “Stop that!” shouted Gobi.

  His powder-blue dragonet perched on his head, dripping water down his protective covering. Every time he tried to wrap his hands around the little creature, it would leap to his shoulder. I shook my head. If only he had someone like Fyrian in his head, guiding him on how to be firm.

  I glanced at Rufus, who kept his nearly black dragonet under control by wrapping a meaty fist around its wings. Although the dragonet let out several roars of protest, he didn’t free it until he’d removed all traces of sludgeweed.

  Stafford’s turquoise dragonet, whose scales were a few shades darker than King Magnar’s eyes, splashed about in the water, allowing easy access to his scales.

  Several minutes later, I was polishing the dragonet’s scales with hornets’ wax, when the human-looking male from the reception area walked into the room, holding a scrap of parchment.

  “Cadet Bluford?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I rubbed the last traces of wax from the dragonet’s scales.

  “The Prince Regent’s… consort wishes your presence in the royal suite.”

  “All right.” I ushered the dragonet into its basket, but the little creature spread its wings wide and flew two feet above the sink. “Come back.”

  The dragonet swooped down, perched itself on the rim of the sink, and folded its wings. Chittering with amusement, it peered down into the warm water as though it would dive in. I grabbed the creature around its middle, making sure to secure its wings. With a screech of anger, the dragonet let out a stream of blue flames.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I muttered. “You’re going back to your basket, and someone will take you home.” I doubted that the dragonet could understand me, but I couldn’t stuff it back into the basket without an explanation.

  Stafford snickered. “You’ve got the naughty one. Mine’s been good.” His turquoise dragonet leaped onto his shoulder and grabbed a chunk of hair with its teeth. “Ouch! Let go.”

  Gobi’s dragonet flew around the room, making the young half-ogre chase after it. Shaking my head, I placed my dragonet into the basket and pulled down its bars before the little creature could spin around and escape.

  The dragonet let out a tiny roar of outrage and thrashed within its cage.

  “Behave yourself.” I wagged my finger. “You’ll only be in there for a few minutes.”

  “Cadet Bluford?” said a voice.

  I glanced up. The messenger stood at the entrance of the room, wringing his hands. “What are you still doing here?”

  “She said I should escort you.”

  “I’ll visit her later.”

  A high-pitched cough warbled in the messenger’s throat. “She threatened to peck me you if you refused.”

  I huffed. Mother could be pretty nasty with her beak. She’d probably give him a few jabs on the head for returning empty-handed. I felt around the hood of my overcoat, looking for a loose spot to wedge my fingernails. When I found one at the nape of my neck, I worked my fingers underneath it and eased off the hood.

  The magic binding the coat receded, and the fabric loosened, allowing me to shrug it off. “All right, then. I’ll come with you.”

  The common area of the royal suite resembled a cozy dining room. Mother perched on the rim of Father’s plate, breaking apart stuffed grape leaves with her beak to get at the spiced rice and chickpeas inside. I glanced at the place setting opposite. It was a near-identical meal that she had left untouched. Father clamped his lips together, breathing hard through flared nostrils. The glower he gave her would have frozen a normal person’s blood, but she chirped a happy tune and continued eating.

  I stepped inside and let the door click shut behind me. Mother glanced up from where she was sabotaging Father’s meal. “You’re just in time!”

  I smiled. “For what?.”

  She flew off his plate, transformed, and fluffed out her mahogany curls. “Have something to eat. Your father put together this wonderful meal.”

  “But there are only two place settings.” I glanced at the drawn curtains and flickering candles. Had I just walked in on Father’s attempt at a romantic meal?

  “He’s a rogue,” muttered Fyrian.

  Mother’s lips spread into a mischievous smile. “He doesn’t mind sharing. Do you, Orson?”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed. Something told me she wasn’t talking about food, but I ignored them and sat at the seat opposite Father. The plate in front of me contained stuffed vines, suet dumplings soaked in beef gravy, with a currant and grape tomato salad, all Mother’s favorites.

  I glanced at the door. “Thanks, but I’m supposed to be meeting my friends at the mess hall.”

  “Sit.” Father stood and ushered Mother into his seat.

  “What’s this about?” I asked. From the dim lights, choice of food and lack of a third place setting, it looked to me like Father had planned on spending time alone with Mother. She must have ruined his attempt at friendliness by transforming into a bluebird and eating off his plate.

  I glanced up at Mother, who rolled her eyes, an indication that Father was about to launch into a lecture.

  “When I allowed you to stay in Mount Fornax, it was to be trained as a dragon mage, not to cause incidents to destabilize the country’s security.”

  “But I did—”

  “We do not know how, but you are involved in the Galloway girl’s escape. She is a bad influence.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll never change your opinion of Evolene.”

  “He’s right,” said Mother.

  My head snapped up. Since when did she agree with him? “What?”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I saw what Jack Galloway did to your father’s guardian and what Jack tried to do to your father.”

  Closing my eyes, I let out a weary breath. “Father has already explained that family’s murderous history.”

  She folded her arms. “Oh, did he tell you how Jack Galloway later betrayed Cendrilla?”

  I stood. “Evolene’s my friend, and I’m going to judge her by her actions, not her family history.”

  “Sit.” Father placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle shove. “This is about your general reckless behavior and not about the Galloway girl. I heard about your encounter with the spriggans and all the other ways you nearly got yourself killed.”

  “In my defense, I would have been captured by the spriggans anyway, if you’d sent me to Savannah to marry King Magnar. They’re holding his sisters. They’d probably do worse to his wife.”

  I met Father’s glower with a stare of my own.

  “If anyone’s a bad influence, it’s him,” said Fyrian. “Always drinking and dueling and turning up late for meetings. Evolene’s a paragon of virtue compared to him.”

  I pressed my lips together and suppressed a snort.

  “This is your final warning, girl.” He pointed a finger between my eyes. “If Fosco or anyone else makes a complaint about you, real or imagined, I will make sure you never see the light of day until you are twenty-one.”

  “And I’d rescue you,” said Fyrian. “He couldn’t keep us apart.”

  I stood. “Fine. Can I go, now?”

  He wrapped a hand around the back of my neck and pressed a kiss on my forehead. “I am warning you.”

  “Have a safe journey back to the palace.” I rushed out of the royal suite. Considering that I really had broken into the Magical Militia prison to rescue Evolene, that conversation hadn’t gone too badly.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, the four of us crossed the campus to the cliff face, where Captain Caiman waited with three full-sized, red dragons and a rapier red. Fyrian sat on her haunches at the end of the row, looking as regal as ever with her crown of horns catching the morning sun like freshly-cut jewels.

  “Yes,” she said with a purr in her voice. “I rather like that description.”

  “Bluford
!” Captain Caiman barked. “What are you?”

  I reared back. I hadn’t done anything wrong… yet. “Sir? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Ignore him,” muttered Fyrian. “He’s full of hot air.”

  He strode forward, fists clenched. “Are you a mage or are you a man?”

  Dread trundled through my stomach. If he knew my secret then it would only be a matter of time before everyone discovered I didn’t meet the basic qualification for a brotherhood of dragon warriors. I glanced at Stafford, who stared back at me, face pale, hazel eyes wide.

  Veins stood out from our instructor’s red scalp like angry serpents. “Answer me!”

  “A-a mage, s-sir,” I whispered.

  He cupped his hand behind his ear. “A what?”

  “A mage,” I said in a louder voice. “Sir.”

  He grabbed the collar of my flying jacket with the ferocity of a half-giant plucking an escaping pickpocket from the crowds of the Capital Market. “Then why did you allow yourself to be caught by witches on dragon back?”

  A gust of relief blew through my lips, and my shoulders relaxed, but not enough to wriggle out of his grip. This had nothing to do with my being female and everything to do with how Niger had gotten himself arrested in disguise as me.

  I glanced up at the snarling instructor. “Sorry, sir. They cornered me at the wards, and I had nowhere to escape.”

  He let go of me with a grunt of disgust. “No witch should ever be able to outfly a dragon mage!” Then he turned to Fyrian. “And you should be guiding your partner better.”

  Fyrian snorted. “He’s just angry that Byrrus chose Magnar instead of him.”

  I pressed my lips together, suppressing a laugh and glanced at Stafford, whose brow wrinkled. He wrung his hands as though debating whether to come to my defense. I gave my head a tiny shake, and his hands dropped to his side.

  Captain Caiman straightened his flying jacket and mopped the sweat off his bald head. Patches of red dye colored his handkerchief, and I dropped my gaze to my boots. If Stafford or Fyrian looked at me with so much of a twinkle in their eyes, I would burst out laughing and wouldn’t be able to stop.