“Where do the witches eat?” I shouted back.
“Their dining hall is next door. Witches prefer the quiet and larger selection of vegetables.”
I clenched my teeth. The closest things to vegetables on that table were the onion and carrot slices floating in a massive tureen of meat stew.
At the far left corner of the room sat two young males, both wearing cadet uniforms. The largest of the pair had the bulk and heavy features of a half-ogre. Long, auburn hair flowed down his back, but he kept his beard trimmed. He glanced up at us and flicked his head in acknowledgment.
“This is Rufus of the Griffon clan,” said Phoenix. “And sitting opposite is Stafford.”
“Hello,” I said to them both.
Stafford beamed, hazel eyes sparkling. He was clean-shaven, with short, toffee-colored hair. From his handsome features, bright, enthusiastic eyes, and flushed cheeks, he had more human blood than ogre, but he was still far bulkier than Ivan and me. I guessed he was a quarter ogre like most powerful witches.
He stood, towering over the three of us, and held out a large hand. “Stafford Perrault. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance!”
“Oh.” I shook his hand, trying not to wince at his firm, ogre grip. Perrault was the name of the orphanages Aunt Cendrilla had installed around the country. “I’m pleased to meet you, too.”
We sat around the table. A waiter clad in a homespun tunic delivered three huge tankards of ale and took our orders. Phoenix asked for a leg of buffalo like the one on Rufus’ platter. Stafford was eating the meat stew with a big, fluffy dumpling in the middle. Ivan and I ordered the same.
“Rufus’ eldest brother was one of the first mages who graduated from the Academy,” said Stafford.
The half-ogre puffed out his chest. “That was back when Her Majesty taught Magecraft.”
The waiter placed a massive bowl of stew in front of me, and I busied myself with eating.
“What was Auntie Rilla like as a teacher?” Stafford sipped from the massive tankard of ale. “She used to visit us at the orphanage and read us bedtime stories.”
I ducked my head. That’s what I used to call her when I was young. Stafford continued his sweet reminiscences, keeping the three other males entranced. Poor Mother. Despite being as beautiful as Aunt Cendrilla, a fantastic swordswoman, and pregnant with me, Father had still married her younger sister with the royal, ogre blood.
“I said I was innocent.” The voice cut through my thoughts like a flaming sword. “Didn’t you hear me the first time?”
My head snapped up. “What?”
Phoenix turned away from Stafford’s story. “Anything the matter, Bluford?”
“Can dragons speak into a person’s mind?” I asked.
The other three students turned to me. Ivan tilted his head to the side, his expression a silent question.
Phoenix put down his leg of buffalo. “It is possible… But to gain the ability to speak, such a dragon would need to have been exposed to a specific kind of magic.”
“I see…” That was a lie. I didn’t understand anything that was happening to me. “What type?”
“Fairy magic. Why do you ask?”
“I think a dragon is in my mind.”
He shook his head. “That’s impossible. Only the most powerful dragon mages can achieve such a feat, and that would be after prolonged contact with a specific dragon.”
Rufus grunted his agreement. “My brothers are mages, and they cannot hear dragons in their minds mind.”
I picked up a hunk of bread and broke off a thick crust. Maybe that glamour Madam Skinner performed on me had odd side effects. Now I wish I’d asked some questions about the intricacies of the magic.
Stafford’s eyes took on a dreamy expression. “I’ll bet Auntie Rilla can mentally communicate with Fogo.”
“You should refer to her as Her Majesty,” said Phoenix between bites of buffalo leg. “You’re an adult now.”
Pink spread across his cheeks up to his toffee-brown hair. “Sorry!”
“Not everyone grew up under her protection.” Phoenix smiled, softening the rebuke. “I’m sure Queen Cendrilla would be capable of mental communication with a dragon, but it’s risky.”
“Why?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.
“A bond that deep intertwines both parties’ magic.”
“And life-forces,” muttered Rufus. He’d already eaten his leg of buffalo to the bone and was mopping up the gravy with a fistful of bread.
My fingers went slack, and the crust splashed into my stew. I pushed myself up, holding onto my roiling stomach. “I need some fresh air.”
“Be back in twenty minutes,” said Phoenix. “I’m taking you to the Magecraft class.”
I rushed toward the windows, swerving past a group of burly half-ogres, clad in red, leather armor. If this voice wasn’t a side effect of Madam Skinner’s spell, then I was in trouble. Who wanted to be bonded with a dragon ferocious enough to burn a human to death?
“I told you,” sniped the voice. “I’m innocent!”
I stepped out of the mess hall, ignoring the warm wind blowing through my hair, and rushed toward the stairs. They weren’t where I had last seen them. “Damn it!”
“You need to step on the stone,” said the voice.
“Oh.” I turned around. A few feet away, a patch of sandstone protruded from the grass like a pedal. I rushed back and slammed my heel into it. The staircase materialized, and I bounded up the steps. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I stilled. “You’re talking in my head, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the green dragon who killed Mr. Jankin.”
After a pause, a snippy voice said, “And you’re slow. I’m not surprised they kicked you out of Magic School.”
Irritation sizzled through my veins, powering my steps. I took the stairs two at a time. “For your information, I excelled at all the theoretical classes.”
The dragon had no response to that, and I smirked. That would teach it to call me slow. “Why do you speak in a female voice, anyway?”
“I’m a she-dragon. And a very special one.”
I reached the top of the stairs. “How are you speaking in my head?”
“We’re bonded.”
It took no time for me to pass the other pens and reach the dragon’s stall. “How?”
She lay on her stomach, resting her head on her paws and looking as pleased as a cave lion who had gotten itself a scaly suit of armor.
“Say something,” I said.
She opened a massive, scarlet eye. Amber swirled around the slitted pupil like a ball of fire that darkened into maroon around the sclera. “You’re the one who visited me,” she replied. “What do you want?”
My fists clenched. “I didn’t ask to be bonded to you!”
“What do you want me to do about it?” she replied.
“Unbond me!”
The dragon tilted her head to the side. “I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.” I folded my arms.
“I wouldn’t know how.” A plume of smoke curled from her nostrils. “Sorry, but we’re stuck with each other.”
I continued ranting at the dragon until she reminded me that I would be late for my Magecraft class. The staircase hadn’t retreated back into the mountainside, so I bounded down the sandstone steps. “This isn’t over!”
As I rushed back toward the mess hall, she said into my head, “You weren’t exactly my first choice, you know.”
I stopped. “So you did bond with me deliberately!”
She didn’t reply, and I ground my teeth. The wretched dragon was probably lying about being unable to sever our bond, too. Why had she picked me of all people? She’d probably sensed my fairy blood and thought me an easy target. None of this mattered, because I was supposed to be in hiding. I didn’t need the attention of being linked to a dragon accused of murder!
Chapter 8
The Magecraft classroom lay a few rooms away from the mess hall. It reminded me of a dragon stall, only larger. Three of its walls were unfinished sandstone with the fourth opening into another grassy terrace. It was empty except for a sandstone bench that spanned the back wall and a man-sized, leather trunk.
I sat between Ivan and Stafford, pressing my knees together and hoping General Thornicroft wouldn’t take one look at me and expose my ignorance of dragons. He hadn’t arrived yet. Phoenix paced in front of us with the afternoon sun lighting the ends of his burgundy hair like elf-mined rubies. From the tense set of his jaw, it looked like the General was late.
“Are you one of the instructors?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” he replied. “I’m one of Master Fosco’s apprentices. He always gets us to take care of new students, so they understand how things work here.”
After a few moments of shuffling his feet, Phoenix clapped his hands together. “While we’re waiting for General Thornicroft, let’s find out what you’ve learned about dragons. Does anyone know the seven stages of growth?”
Stafford’s hand shot up. “Oh! When a she-dragon lays an egg, she doesn’t sit on it as a bird would. Eggs can take decades to hatch.”
“That’s the egg stage.” Phoenix gave him an approving nod. “Can anyone tell me the next?”
“Dragonet,” I blurted. If I didn’t speak up now, he’d expect my input when the questions became more difficult. “They’re very intelligent and mostly carry messages.”
Phoenix smiled. “Only those who want to be trained are put in service. You’ve missed the hatchling stage, where dragons are at their most vulnerable and can’t fly. I’ll have to show you the nurseries at some point. Now, how does a dragonet reach the next stage?”
I chewed the inside of my lip. Didn’t they just grow like everyone else? But if Phoenix was asking such an odd question, perhaps the answer wasn’t so simple.
Ivan raised his hand. “When dragonets have soaked up enough ambient magic, the fire chamber in their throats expand, triggering massive and immediate growth.”
I swallowed hard, glad that I’d already answered.
Phoenix inclined his head. “Well done. Most students aren’t aware of this when they arrive at the Academy. How about you, Rufus? What are the next three stages of dragon growth?”
“Are these the new hopefuls?” said a cold voice.
A massive shadow fell across the room. It belonged to an eight-foot-tall male, who stood at the window-way. Sunlight streamed through his hair, making its loose strands glow like candle fire.
With his head bowed, it was hard to see his features, but he had the height, but not the bulk of a full-blooded ogre. And he wore dragon-proof armor of the deepest mahogany, the exact shade as Aunt Cendrilla’s.
“Magecraft,” he said in a voice sharp enough to cut throats. “What is it?”
Rufus straightened. “The type of magic that is neither witch nor fairy, sir.”
“Incomplete.” He stepped further into the room and raised his head, revealing a normal brow, and an almost delicate nose. Strands of platinum hair, even paler than mine, framed his face.
My breath caught. If he had human features but was the size of a full ogre, he could only be a quarter-giant.
Giants were a rare type of ogre. There was only one in our Noble House, Father’s guardian, who had been killed by Jack Galloway. But quarter-giants were almost mythical. The few giantesses in the Known World tended not to consort with human males, due to the massive differences in size. Half-giants and quarter-giants had greater access to their magical powers than full-blooded ogres. Perhaps this was why General Thornicroft taught a subject previously taught by someone as powerful as Aunt Cendrilla.
The Magecraft teacher turned to Stafford. “And a dragon mage is?”
Stafford gulped. “I-it’s a kind of fire mage, sir. E-except a dragon mage gets his power from his dragon.”
General Thornicroft stared hard at Stafford, making him quake. I swallowed, and the membranes of my throat stuck together. I glanced at Ivan, who watched the exchange with wide eyes, and Rufus, whose frame appeared to thrum with eagerness. Stafford’s answer wasn’t completely wrong, but I supposed the teacher needed a more specific definition.
Stafford muttered, “Dragon Mages have their own power, too. They’re like witches, I suppose, but they need a dragon instead of a staff to bring most of it out.”
“Correct.” General Thornicroft stepped back.
Both Stafford and I exhaled relieved breaths.
“Not everyone who is accepted for assessment gets to train as a dragon mage,” he rumbled. “At any time under my tender care, should you fail to meet my exacting standards…”
The silent threat hung like an executioner’s ax. My heart thrashed so hard, it made my ribs rattle.
General Thornicroft turned his pale, silver glare onto me, and I froze. “What happens to boys who fail at becoming dragon mages?”
I shot a glance at Phoenix, who along with Rufus looked unconcerned about General Thornicroft’s strange behavior. Stafford was still quaking, mirroring exactly how I felt. But Aunt Cendrilla wouldn’t appoint a sadist into such an important position. The quarter-giant had to be putting on a tough act.
“Um…” I tapped my lips, thinking hard about his question.
Unlike the Magical Militia, whose sole focus was magical combat, Mount Fornax served a number of purposes. It was a holding place for wild dragons caught around the Known World, a community for displaced half-blood males, and a training ground for the Queen’s peacekeeping force, the Dragon Defense Division. Dragon mage was only one role among many, and I doubted that anyone would be asked to leave if they couldn’t express that kind of magic.
I was about to mention the other opportunities such as dragon riding and dragon taming, when a sharp voice cut into my thoughts.
“His dragon is just as miserable as him,” the emerald dragon said into my head. “He’s the grey one with silver horns who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
I rubbed my temples, sending a silent message for her to shut up.
“You…” the General growled, “are not paying attention!” He loomed over me, quicksilver eyes glinting like blades.
“There’s a dragon speaking into my mind, and she won’t be quiet.”
“Indeed?” General Thornicroft grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me toward the window.
My feet scrambled on the sandstone floor, trying to keep up with his massive strides.
“Let me take a look at you, boy.”
Panic seized my heart in its steel grip, and I squinted against the afternoon sun streaming into my face. He would see through my disguise and expose me as an impostor!
“General Thornicroft,” said Phoenix. “What are you—”
“Silence!” The Dragon Mage narrowed his eyes, turning my head from one side to the other. Then he let go of me and bellowed with laughter. “Who did you think you were fooling, boy?”
My stomach dropped. I’d been caught after mere minutes of lessons! Tears stung the back of my eyes. Through trembling lips, I said, “I-I didn’t mean any harm. Please don’t tell my father!”
“I expect King Armin wouldn’t approve of one of his boys becoming a dragon mage, eh!” He clapped me hard on the back, making me stagger across the sandstone floor. “Welcome to the Dragon Mage Academy!”
Gasps filled the classroom. Stafford clapped his hand over his mouth. Rufus’ jaw went slack, and Ivan seemed to collapse on the bench with shock.
“K-King Armin of the United Kingdom of Seven is your father?” cried Stafford. “B-but t-that would mean…”
General Thornicroft advanced on me, grinning like a dragon who had cornered its prey. “Yes… This is one of Queen Cendrilla’s twin sons!”
Fear wrapped around my throat like a noose. I wasn’t pretending to be one of my half-human cousins. They were fire mages, a year younger than me, and real people whose wh
ereabouts could be verified. “I-I’m not.”
“I see it now,” cried Stafford. “You look just like one of the boys in the royal portrait!”
I clenched my teeth. Madam Skinner had stared at Aunt Cendrilla’s family portrait before creating my disguise. Now I know what she was doing: using the twins’ likenesses. And I’d been too grateful not to notice. “I’m not Prince—”
General Thornicroft’s fingers dug into my shoulder. “If you wanted to remain anonymous, you should have gotten your mother or fairy stepfather to change your appearance.”
There was no point in telling them that I had made efforts to change my face. It would only lead to them discovering the truth. But there was one benefit of them thinking I was one of Aunt Cendrilla’s sons. They were also a quarter-fairy and therefore capable of connecting mentally with a dragon. “Um… Sir?”
“Yes?”
“What should I do about the dragon talking to me in my mind?”
He turned to Phoenix. “Take…”
“Albert,” I said. “Albert Bluford.”
His lips pinched, as though he thought I was pathetic for continuing with the charade of being a commoner. “After classes, take ‘Bluford’ through the dragon stalls and identify which one has formed the bond.”
“Sir?” I asked.
His brows rose. “Yes?”
“It’s the dragon that killed Mr. Jankin.”
Ivan choked, nearly falling off his seat. “Are you sure?”
I nodded.
Phoenix stepped forward. “Permission to take ‘Bluford’ out of class.”
“Granted.” General Thornicroft strode to the leather trunk and pointed his finger at its seam. One of his nails transformed into a blue flame.
Phoenix wrapped an arm around my shoulders, obscuring my view of General Thornicroft’s hands. “Don’t worry. We’ll see what we can do to help. If you can instruct the dragon with your mind to raise her left paw, then her right and flick her tail, that should prove your mental communication and link.”
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