I awoke from a nightmare of King Magnar squeezing my throat with an armored hand to find one of the sheep-haired maids standing at the end of my bed. My heart clenched, and I pulled the bed sheet to my chest. “What is it?”
“I am Dorper,” she replied. “Here to inform you that a human is awaiting your presence in the Princess’s drawing room.”
“Who?”
“The royal artist.” She strode to the armoire and pulled out a purple, flowing gown. Cerise ribbons hung from its low neckline and long, bell-shaped sleeves. “His Highness the Prince Regent also ordered me to dress you this morning.”
My jaws clenched. Things could be worse. At least Father hadn’t bundled me into a trunk and sent me to the Savannah Empire in my sleep. That didn’t stop me from glaring at the silk monstrosity. It didn’t even have a sword belt or a holster for my staff.
“I want to wear a tunic and breeches.”
Dorper’s face pinched, but she placed the gown at the foot of my circular bed. “Perhaps you will be in a more amenable mood after your bath.”
She walked across the room to a doorway, which I assumed was the bath chamber. The sound of running water confirmed my suspicions, and I pulled myself out of bed.
My Magical Militia uniform was missing from the chaise where I’d left it the night before, and I opened the first armoire to be greeted by dozens of ridiculously long gowns, fit for a human Princess. I slammed the door shut and rushed toward a chest of drawers. It contained an array of silk chemises and underthings. As did the next chest of drawers and the one after that.
“Where are the breeches and tunics?” That’s what I’d worn before the Magical Militia. Mother and I never wore fancy clothes except for special occasions. Even Aunt Cendrilla wore armor most of the time, but with long skirts instead of breeches.
Dorper poked her head out of the door. She was about to reply, when her gaze darted to the window.
The green dragonet squeezed itself through the small gap in the shutters, holding a scroll in its front claws. My heart skittered, breath caught. This had to be my reply from the Dragon Academy!
“Why is Her Majesty’s dragonet in your chambers?” she asked.
“Maybe it wants another plate of meat,” I replied, hoping she’d get the hint and go to the kitchens.
Dorper headed toward the little creature, her hand outstretched. “Give me that scroll.”
A jolt of panic straightened my spine, and I rushed toward her in an attempt to block her path. I couldn’t let her see a reply addressed to Albert Bluford, let alone to read the letter.
The dragonet leaped off the windowsill, blasting a tiny stream of fire at her questing fingers.
“Ouch!” She snatched her hand away.
A relieved sigh slid from between my lips. “You should put water on that before it blisters.”
Dorper strode toward the bathroom, glaring at the dragonet over her shoulder.
As soon as she turned on the spigot, I whispered, “Is that for me?”
The green dragonet nodded and dropped the scroll into my hands. I whispered my thanks, and it flew out of the window.
I skimmed the contents of the note before the water cut off.
It was from Bradford Jankin, the secretary of the Dragon Academy, inviting me to report to Mount Fornax before sundown today to assess where to place me. There was a brief mention of a tailor in the Capital Market, who would supply a uniform. My heart reverberated in my chest. I’d been accepted! But could I disguise myself as a boy? At six feet in height, I was tall enough to pass for a human male and maybe one with an ogre great-grand parent.
Most half-ogres stood six and a half feet tall and were broad and muscular, with strong features like Father. My new brothers would probably grow a few inches taller than me, and would be well-built for humans, but with a mother like Aunt Cendrilla, they would be mages, just like the twins she had with Uncle Armin.
“Where did the dragonet go?” Dorper emerged from the bath chamber, wiping her hands on her white apron.
The hand holding the scroll shot behind my back. “It thought Aunt Cendrilla was here, but I told it to check the Royal Suite.”
She narrowed her eyes. “The bath has been run. I will inform the Prince Regent of your refusal to wear the gown.”
“Yes. Thanks.” Still keeping the scroll behind my back, I edged toward the bath chamber. Dorper would probably tell Father I was planning something, but there was no proof. Dragonets often wandered into places they didn’t belong, and by the time Father tried to search my room, I would have hidden the letter in my bodice.
After bathing, I found my Magical Militia uniform underneath a pile of petticoats and walked down to the dining room. The table was laden with platters of assorted fruit, pastries from the United Kingdom of Seven, jams, and a tureen of porridge. These were foods more suited to fairies than ogres, who preferred meat. I gulped. They’d provided the kinds of dishes Mother would request at home in Mount Bluebeard. I stepped inside, took my seat and reached for the platter of sliced pineapple.
One of the maids poured me a cup of fragrant, bergamot-scented Earl Fae tea.
“There she is.” Father’s gruff voice echoed from the hallway.
He stood at the double doors with a rodent-faced human whose eyes kept darting about the room. From the paint stains on the man’s long fingers, it was clear that he was the artist who would paint my betrothal portrait.
“Good morning.” I skewered the piece of pineapple with my fork. “Thought you’d still be celebrating your recent change in fortunes.”
“You need an occupation,” Father growled.
He was probably picturing me as the Queen of the Savannah Empire. Father advanced through the doorway, ice-blue eyes sharp enough to shred me into dragonet meat. He’d trimmed his beard, so it no longer appeared uneven and wore the navy blue armor he reserved for the Ogre Senate. On his left hip hung his steel scimitar and on his right, the Sword of Lightning lay dormant. Although he was dwarfed by the ogre servants in stature, he was, with no doubt, the most dangerous person in the dining room.
I stood, meeting his cold glare. “Isn’t that something I should decide for myself?”
“Most noblewomen are already married at seventeen.”
“Mother’s still single.” I left unsaid the part where the man she loved had married her younger sister.
He flinched. It was the quickest of expressions, but enough to fill my chest with a roar of triumph. “Paloma’s situation is different.”
“She’s invited me over to the realm of the fairies to meet her grandmother.”
His lips tightened. My great-grandmother was the Queen of the Fairies, an immortal being of immeasurable power. Nobody defied her, not even Aunt Cendrilla. She only acknowledged Mother as a General of the Fairy Fighting Force because her son, Prince Evander, had many illegitimate children with lower fairies. The only grandchild she recognized was Aunt Cendrilla, who wasn’t even a full fairy, but was legitimate, as Prince Evander had married the Ogre Queen Hippohyus.
I walked around the table, meeting his gaze, daring him to forbid me from seeing Mother. After a tense silence, punctuated by the human’s sniffling, his gaze flickered away from mine. “Tell Paloma I send my regards.”
“I’ll tell her of your happy news, too.”
With the haughtiest toss of the head I could muster, I walked around him and out of the dining room, keeping my breathing even. If I ran, the action would break through his guilt and remind him that he needed to marry me off to stop King Magnar from declaring war. My heart pounded like rain falling on parched earth, sending blood to my legs, urging them to sprint.
“Wait.” His voice cut through my tenuous triumph like a scimitar through the back.
I stilled, holding my breath and ignoring every instinct to run. Running away from a hunter would only lead to a chase I would never win. Running away from his sword fighting lessons had taught me that much. Yet, running away was exactly what I was doing, bu
t with stealth instead of speed. I turned my head to the side to avoid looking him directly in the eye.
“Take my flying ship and tell the treasurer to give you a bag of gold.”
I bobbed my head and strode down the hallways. By the time Father realized I hadn’t traveled to Mount Bluebeard to recruit a crew of sailor witches, I would be long gone.
Despite my eagerness to flee, I stopped at the treasury to get the gold needed to make the purchases on my list. The ogre at the desk flared his nostrils, and I cringed, hoping he wouldn’t smell my fear. He would probably report my strange scent to Father.
I stepped out of the palace and was engulfed by the aroma of orange blossoms from the trees surrounding the building. The palace gardens consisted of magically sustained fruit trees amid a green lawn.
A carriage waited in the courtyard, presumably to take me to Mount Bluebeard. As I couldn’t even access my power to operate a Magical Militia flying cloak, I had to head toward its driver.
“Please take me to the Capital Market. Bluebeard witches are meeting me there to take me to the realm of the fairies.”
The driver, a four-eyed ogre with grey skin and shark teeth, inclined his head. “Very well, Young Mistress.”
I stepped into the luxurious carriage and sank into its velvet seat, trying my best to ignore the guilt gnawing at my heart. When Father or Aunt Cendrilla discovered my deception, I hoped the driver wouldn’t get into trouble.
Outside the palace orchards and beyond its tall walls was a wasteland of dried shrubs that stretched out to arid, grassy hills in shades of sage and olive and umber. Steppe wasn’t exactly a desert, but its cloudless skies and low rainfall meant that nothing of use could grow without the intervention of magic.
The road leading out of the palace was made of sand bricks and forked to the right toward the walled compound of the Magical Militia. Straight ahead lay the route to freedom. I sat in the carriage, staring at my hands. My disguise needed to be perfect. I needed bandages to bind my chest and an elixir to color my distinctive, silvery-blonde hair.
If they discovered my identity, they would tell Aunt Cendrilla. She was the military leader of the country as well as its Queen. Then she would tell Father, and he would march me to King Magnar and offer me as a sacrificial bride. That part would be bad enough, but the King would reject me outright. Why settle for a seventeen-year-old with no magical or political power when he could have the wonderful Queen Cendrilla? He would probably behead me on the spot for the insulting offer. Then war would definitely break out, and everyone would die.
My stomach heaved, and I leaned forward in my seat, breathing hard. An all-male community of dragon warriors was the last place anyone would look for me. Whatever happened, I had to make this disguise work. I thought about ways to hide my identity. As the surrounding drylands blended into a haze of beige, I knew I could do this. All I needed was to blend in with the other new recruits.
The carriage stopped on the outskirts of the market, a massive, sandy field arranged in rows of white, canvas tents. Seconds later, the door flew open. The driver beamed. “Here we are!”
“Thank you.” My smile was as weak and trembly as my stomach. I stepped out of the carriage onto the sandy soil. Amid the tents that made up the Capital Market were a group of witches holding bags of purchases on the ends of their staffs. “You can go back to the palace. The Bluebeard witches are over there.”
His middle eyes looked into the distance, then he gave me a jaunty salute, the eyes on the side of his head twinkling. He hopped onto the driver’s seat and drove back down the Sandbrick Road. I stood at the edge of the market, watching him disappear over the horizon. At some point, they would question the driver, and I didn’t want him to know which tent I visited.
Since many ogre hybrids had an excellent sense of smell, I needed to mask my female scent. The best way to do this was by covering my own with someone else’s. I headed for the second-hand tent and bought a pair of simple breeches and a tunic that still had traces of its previous owner’s body odor.
Then I visited the apothecary to buy thick bandages and hair-tinting elixir. The old apothecary was kind enough to let me use his privy, where I bound my chest, colored my hair, held my breath, and changed into my male attire.
The letter said I could buy a cadet’s uniform from Madam Skinner’s Dragon Military Outfitters, which turned out to be a large, bell-shaped tent whose canvas door was emblazoned with a dragon motif. I took a deep breath and stepped through its opening into a cool, white vestibule.
A young witch scurried in from another door, ginger curls tumbling out of a bun on the top of her head. She clutched a quartz-tipped staff about the size of a wand, indicating that she was an apprentice. “Are you shopping for someone, Mistress?”
I cringed. So much for my disguise. “I need a suit of dragon-proof armor.”
“May I ask why?” Her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude!”
An older witch stepped through, wearing a brimmed hat some women liked to use to keep the sun off their faces. She held a staff that reached her shoulder. Considering she was nearly six feet tall, that indicated her power was on par with a Magical Militia Captain. “It’s all right, Margie.” She waved her apprentice away. “I will see to this customer.”
The young witch bobbed into a curtsey. “Very well.”
The older witch, who I assumed was Madam Skinner, ushered me through another set of doors into a warmer room. My gaze skipped over the usual things found in a dressmaker’s shop: the sewing machine, wall of swatches, threads and fastenings, cutting table, and rows and rows of fabric bolts. What caught my attention was a giant mural of Aunt Cendrilla and Fogo, her purple dragon, adorning one wall, and various patriotic looking paintings, including the flag of Steppe fixed on another.
Madam Skinner raised her staff and incanted the same privacy spell I’d seen the Witch General perform the day before. The canvas door sealed shut.
Then her gaze flickered down my form and rested on my hips. “From the looks of you, I’d reckon you’re the Bluebeard girl.”
Chapter 4
My breath caught, and I stared wide-eyed at the witch. The brim of her hat cast her eyes in shade, and the corners of her lips curled into a satisfied smile. Not only had she guessed my identity, but I was trapped with a magical being who could overpower me and hold me for ransom. Father didn’t spend all his spare time dueling for sport. Male ogres hated him for his relationship with their Queen, and humans hated him for controlling the country’s supply of food and fresh water.
It might have been my imagination, but the tent’s canvas walls closed in like a snare. I stepped back, heart pounding. Sweat broke out under my armpits, mingling with my smelly, second-hand tunic.
“Ummm…” My gaze darted around the spacious room. All the sewing supplies now seemed more sinister. Scissors, needles, pins, tape measures… Even the charcoal iron burning in the corner for removing creases in fabric was a deadly weapon.
My mouth tried to form words, but they died in my throat. It had been a decade since anyone had tried to abduct me. The last time, a group of human alchemists took me from a friend’s house and tried to extract my magic. They would have drained me to a husk if Mother hadn’t flown in with a flock of birds to peck their eyes out. But she was gone, and I was alone and defenseless.
I lifted my chin. “How did you—”
“Who do you think makes Her Majesty’s dragon-proof armor?” She pushed back her shoulders and puffed out her chest. “Just because she’s a fire mage, it doesn’t mean her clothes can’t go up in flames.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. Perhaps I’d been wrong about Madam Skinner’s intentions. “But I still don’t understand how you knew it was me.”
“Pale blue eyes, silvery streaks showing through badly-tinted hair, and the same figure Her Majesty had before the children.” She pointed at a painting of a younger version of myself sitting on the back of Fogo w
ith my arms raised. “And I’ve been making your armor since you were old enough to ride Her Majesty’s dragon.”
A flush warmed my cheeks and spread to the tips of my ears. When I was little and riding with Aunt Cendrilla, I’d just thought she had magicked my leather outfit. “I didn’t know that.”
“What style are you looking for? Something like Her Majesty’s?”
“Actually... I’d like a cadet uniform.” With each word, my flush deepened.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Why would a Princess want that?”
“I’ve been offered a place at the Dragon Academy.” The words came out as a mumble.
“What’s that, dear?”
I pulled out the letter of acceptance from my bag and handed it to her. Madam Skinner’s eyes scanned the scroll’s contents, her brows rising until they’d disappeared underneath the brim of her hat. “It’s addressed to Albert Bluford.”
“Yes,” I replied, my voice shriveling along with my stomach. “That’s me.”
“But you’re Princess Alba, heir to the House of Bluebeard.”
My eyes stung, and a lump formed in the back of my throat. I swallowed, blinking hard. Although Aunt Cendrilla had stolen Father away from us, I couldn’t betray a confidence by telling her about the quadruplets. And anything I said would sound treasonous. How many nations had Aunt Cendrilla saved, and how many lives? She’d defeated the Snow Queen, freed the United Kingdom of Seven from crazed alchemists, overthrown a corrupt ogre government, and rid the world of an infestation of angry dragons.
Complaining that Father had chosen her instead of his concubine and bastard daughter seemed selfish and trivial compared to everything Aunt Cendrilla had done for the Known World.
“Please…” The tiniest of sobs caught in my throat. “I want to be a dragon warrior. Nobody can know it’s me.”
Her eyes softened. “I won’t demand your reasons, but if Her Majesty asks, I won’t lie about making your uniform.”
Dragon Mage Academy Box Set Page 3