“Explain why Master Fosco invaded the Militia Headquarters to retrieve the letter you sent.”
A warning snarl reverberated from his direction, and blood drained from my face. I’d just given him another reason to hate me.
“Don’t worry about him,” snapped Fyrian. “This is my big chance to be exonerated.”
“I got here the day before yesterday to start a week of assess—”
The door crashed open. General Thornicroft stepped through, face twisted in a rictus of anger. My heart spasmed, and I waited for him to act, but he looked from the Witch General to the Magistratus and then back to me. “Bluford! What is the meaning of this?”
The Magistratus beckoned with curled fingers. “You are just in time for this young cadet’s account of events. Step inside and close the door. Let us not waste the cool air.”
General Thornicroft gave the Magistratus a curt nod.
“Go on,” whispered Fyrian.
“Yesterday, I came here to report to the Director of Admissions.” I pointed at Mr. Jankin’s door.
“This is the slain human?” asked the Witch General.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
I walked to Mr. Jankin’s door and held it open. Everyone, including a snarling Master Fosco, stepped inside. “Mr. Jankin’s body was here.” I pointed at the space in front of the burned-out desk. “But look at the pattern of the smoke. A dragon couldn’t have done it, because he would have had to stick his head through that skylight.”
Everyone looked around and murmured with agreement.
General Thornicroft stood at the door. “I do not see the point of this discussion, boy. Judging from your performance in class, even you could have perpetrated the crime.”
“No, I couldn’t!”
He raised his brows. “Your magical flare held twice the power of the damage done to this room.”
“B-but Mr. Jankin was already dead when I got here. Ask Ivan or Evolene!”
“I don’t think he’s accusing you… Bluford,” said the Witch General. “His point demonstrates that any magic user of power might have been able to kill the human.”
“Indeed.” General Thornicroft inclined his head at her.
“Get to the point,” snapped the Magistratus. “Who killed the human?”
“Master Fosco,” I replied. “He destroyed the body before the security witches got to perform an autopsy, and the victim wrote a letter explaining the plan to kill the Prince Regent and take his place. We found it in the unconscious hand of the victim’s daughter who was attacked earlier today.”
“Where is this letter?” The Magistratus held out a clawed hand.
Master Fosco gulped. “Torn into pieces and burnt.”
“Its ashes?” asked the Witch General.
“My wastepaper basket,” he said in a tiny voice.
There was more evidence to come, such as Evolene’s statement, but Master Fosco was doing a good enough job of incriminating himself with his actions.
The Witch General gestured toward the door, and one of her lieutenants left the room. I guessed that she would perform an enchantment to restore the letter.
Fyrian gave me a mental shove. “Tell them about me.”
“Magistratus, Witch General?” They turned their glares away from Master Fosco, and I said, “There’s a dragon accused—”
The lieutenant burst in through the door, holding a wicker waste paper basket. “He destroyed it with dragon fire!”
Fyrian cringed alongside me. Dragons, and the items they destroyed with their fire, were resistant to being restored by witch magic. It had slipped my mind until now. I suppose it was because I’d seen Roseate dispose of the body. My shoulders slumped, and I gazed past the witch at the doorway. I could sound the alarm and summon Madam Maritimus, who could give a witness statement of what she’d read.
“What’s that?” asked Fyrian.
“Huh?”
“That scrap of parchment behind that witch’s foot. Could it be part of the original letter?”
I told the Witch General, and her lieutenant picked up the scrap, which had the words:
Master Fosco…
Plot against the Prince…
“That’s it!” I cried. “Can you restore it from that piece?”
“It’s a forgery!” snarled Master Fosco.
“The essence of the rest of the letter has been destroyed.” She tapped her finger on her lip. “But we can test this fragment for authenticity.”
The lieutenant bathed the scrap of parchment with magic and frowned. “Several parties have touched this letter: a human, witch, dragon, and ogre-hybrid.”
“So Mr. Jankin did write it!” I exclaimed.
“No. The letter is only twelve hours old.” She turned to me. “You discovered the body around thirty-six hours ago?”
I nodded. “But who would write something like that?”
“Someone who wishes to frame Fosco!” Master Fosco pointed at my chest.
I reared back. “Me?”
“It makes sense now.” He advanced across the room, shoulders widening. “The child of my sworn enemy, sent to infiltrate my stronghold and destroy everything I hold dear.”
“I-I didn’t!” I shot the Witch General a pleading look.
“Arrest this bastard for framing a war hero!”
A hot, angry flush crept across my cheeks, and I clenched my fists. “You’re just trying to cover up your plan to murder the Prince Regent!”
The Magistratus scratched the base of his right horn. “Treason?”
“Yes.” I whirled around, pointing at Master Fosco. “His chambers contains lots of pictures of him and Queen Cendrilla. There’s even one of him standing over a slain Regent Bluebeard.”
“Lies!” cried Master Fosco.
“That’s why Mr. Jankin was killed. He discovered Master Fosco’s plot and got silenced.”
He scoffed. “Jankin hated Bluebeard, and everyone on this mountain owes their freedom to the Queen. Why would I perform treasonous acts against the savior of all dragons?”
I pointed at the door. “Check if you like. I can direct you to his chambers. The evidence is all there.”
Everyone turned to Master Fosco, whose face burned crimson. “A man cannot be condemned for his artwork!”
The Magistratus shook his head. “Master Fosco’s animosity for Regent Bluebeard is long-standing, yet they worked together during the Great Dragon Revolution. Based on the evidence provided, I believe that Master Fosco has been framed. However, he is guilty of concealing the evidence of murder.”
“To protect the reputation of my dragons!” he exclaimed. “And I fully intended to execute the culprit.”
“But she’s innocent!” I waved my arms around. “The smoke patterns are all wrong. Fyrian-Lacerta is a full-grown dragon, so she’s too big to enter the hallways.”
“Yes?” the Magistratus’ large, obsidian eyes fixed on mine.
I stood straighter. “As General Thornicroft confirmed, the pattern of the smoke indicates that whoever committed the murder did it from the doorway. The only way a full-sized dragon could attack this room would be through the skylight.”
Everyone looked up at the ceiling.
The lieutenant scanned the room with her magic. “The residual smoke confirms Bluford’s claim.”
Triumph filled my chest with warmth, and I pushed back my shoulders and smiled. “And Fyrian was a dragonet at the time Mr. Jankin was killed.”
Master Fosco shook his head, brows creased. “That is true, but the firepower of a dragonet can increase a hundredfold before the increase in body mass.”
“What are you saying?” My voice shook.
General Thornicroft stepped forward. Compassion shone in his eyes, which was even more frightening than his usual glares. “The dragonet set fire to the office from the doorway. Then, she flew out in her small state and reached the surface before expanding into a full dragon.”
“She wouldn’t—”
“
The dragonet likely didn’t mean for the fire to reach the human. But they’re taught from the moment they are hatched to never fire on anyone unless it is their intention to kill.”
“Where’s your evidence for any of this? You’re wrong!” I paused, waiting to relay Fyrian’s denial, but a shocked silence filled my head. It made no sense. Why would a hard-working messenger dragonet I had played with as a child want to attack a human? She didn’t kill Mr. Jankin, but I didn’t know how to convince them.
“Based on your analysis of events, I am satisfied of the dragon’s guilt,” said the Magistratus.
Master Fosco’s lips pressed together, as though what he was about to say would be difficult. “We will arrange an execution tonight. Justice will be served.”
“No!” Fyrian screamed so loud in my mind, I clapped my hands over my ears and yelped. My knees buckled, and the lieutenant caught me before I fell. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear her through Fyrian’s screaming.
“C-calm down,” I said, but the words didn’t reach her.
A despair, deeper than the Cursed sea engulfed my senses and pulled me down. My lungs seized, my eyes bulged, and my legs collapsed.
The witch laid me on the scorched, sandstone floor and performed a diagnostic spell. I squirmed, spinning, drowning in Fyrian’s anguish. I didn’t know it was possible for a dragon to have such intense emotions, and I kept begging her over and over again to calm herself, but she had lost control.
I clutched at my tightening throat and rasped. This was my fault. She had reached out to me because she was innocent and needed help. She’d trusted and depended on me. And now, because of my selfish need to hide from Father, she would be executed for someone else’s crime. Smoke wafted from the edges of my vision, and everything went black.
The burn of smelling salts seared my sinuses and made my eyes water. I flinched and sucked in a massive breath, blinking away the tears. Two lieutenants knelt at my sides, their faces creasing with worry. Even Master Fosco and General Thornicroft stood nearby, looking concerned.
Fyrian’s screams still filled my head, but I pushed myself up and twisted to face the Magistratus and Witch General. “It’s m-me. Alba Bluebeard. P-please don’t kill my dragon. We’re bonded. If she dies, I’ll perish with her!”
Fyrian’s cries died down to whimpers. The tightness around my throat loosened, and I sent her a silent apology.
The Witch General’s face stilled. I’m sure she knew my identity from the letter and family resemblance.
Fyrian sniffled. “She’s disappointed, because now she won’t get to use my hide, blood and organs for potions ingredients.”
I clenched my teeth, breathing hard, hoping the Magistratus would overturn his guilty verdict or tell Master Fosco she could live out her sentence confined to Mount Fornax.
For a moment, the Magistratus didn’t speak. He stared into my eyes, brows furrowed, as though trying to determine whether I was telling the truth or a boy pretending to be Princess Alba in disguise. My nerves twitched, urging me to do something, but I forced my limbs to still and stared back at the Magistratus. His wisdom had served Steppe for centuries, and I hoped his final judgement would be benevolent.
When the silence stretched out so long, I thought my nerves would snap, he asked, “Do you know what a dragon is?”
I chewed my lip. “Y-yes, sir.”
“You do not.”
My gaze darted to Master Fosco, whose expression had become unreadable. I licked my lips. “Fyrian didn’t hurt anyone. She doesn’t deserve to be executed.”
“A dragon is a force of nature made flesh. It is more dangerous than any being who ever lived, including the Snow Queen and another monarch whose wicked deeds have been stripped from history.”
I blinked hard. “Huh?”
“Mount Fornax is an illusion. The Treaty of Dragons is the only thing that stands between civilization and destruction, and it must be upheld!”
My knees wobbled. Nothing he said made sense. Fyrian was innocent! “B-but—”
The Magistratus turned to the other witches. “Find a way to sever their bond and then execute the dragon. If the treaty is not upheld by morning, I will eject every single dragon from the country and leave them to the mercy of the Queen of the Fairies.”
Chapter 19
The words of the Magistratus were like a cannonball to the chest, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I wanted to be sick. No one seemed to care that Fyrian was innocent! Her whimpers filled my head, hoarse, as though she’d exhausted herself from all that screaming. My eyes filled with tears, and I steeled the muscles of my stomach. If I didn’t seize control of myself and fight back, Fyrian could lose her life.
“Doesn’t it matter that Fyrian said she didn’t kill anyone?” I shouted.
The Magistratus let out a weary sigh and stared down at me through large, watery eyes. “When you reach a tenth of my age, you will discover that the guilty will say anything to escape justice.”
“B-but Fyrian was Aunt Cendrilla’s messenger dragon.” Dragons weren’t property, but dropping that connection had to count for something. In a nation where humans had been owned by their Liege Lords, it was worth taking a risk that ogres believed that dragons were owned by people, too.
“The treaty was drawn up by Her Majesty and the Council of Dragons,” replied the Magistratus. “It would not set a good example for her to make exemptions for favored dragons.”
A lump formed in my throat. Regardless of whether Mount Fornax was independent of Steppe, the Magistratus had given a ruling that now sealed Fyrian’s fate. Once the witches had found a way to suppress our bond, she would die.
Master Fosco clapped his hands together. “Now that the matter is resolved. You may leave my domain. Take this child with you. She is expelled.”
“Why?” The Witch General snapped.
Master Fosco raised his chin, eyes blazing with defiance.
“Dragon Master Fosco.” The Magistratus walked around the burned-out room and towered above Master Fosco. He was even taller than General Thornicroft. “Are you expelling this cadet for reporting your illegal concealment of a human’s death?”
Master Fosco’s cheeks turned as purple as the burgundy strands framing his face. “We have no room in Mount Fornax for traitors.”
“I would hardly call being a law-abiding citizen treachery,” drawled the Magistratus. He smiled, baring a mouth full of sharpened, white incisors. “Would you?”
My stomach churned. Why weren’t they focussing on the real issue? Becoming a dragon mage no longer mattered if I couldn’t do it with Fyrian. Especially not if it meant working with a group of people who cared more about politics than justice.
Fyrian’s quiet sobs filled the space between my ears, and I tried to focus on anything I had missed. My original assessment of Master Fosco had been correct. He was too obvious a suspect and had clearly been framed. But by whom? It had to be someone who had overheard me talking about my suspicions with Ivan, Stafford and Rufus.
“Then she is expelled for not meeting the basic requirement of our brotherhood!” Master Fosco snarled at the Magistratus.
A sheen of sweat glistened on the Director’s upper lip, as though the intensity of the Magistratus’ glare had caused him to overheat. He balled his fists, muscles straining through his leather armor, chest heaving like he was about to breathe fire on the taller male. Through clenched teeth, he said, “There is no such thing as a female dragon mage!”
“You are forgetting yourself.” The Magistratus’ voice was as cold as a Tundra wind, and he gazed down at Master Fosco as if he was an annoying little dragonet. “Queen Cendrilla established Mount Fornax for two reasons. The first, to provide dragons sanctuary from persecution, and the second was to counter discrimination in our society against male ogres deemed tainted with human blood.”
I glanced at General Thornicroft, who grimaced. Although he was a quarter-giant and with more access to his latent magic than any male ogre hybrid, he h
ad probably suffered prejudice, too.
The Magistratus’ words of reason filled my chest with hope. Maybe I could point out that Mr. Jankin’s murder had taken advantage of dragons’ unjust reputation for being killers, and he would reconsider Fyrian’s fate?
Master Fosco squared his shoulders. “Be that as it may—”
“Do not interrupt me!” the Magistratus roared.
Everyone, including me, jumped. A furious ogre, especially one as old and powerful as the Magistratus, was almost as frightening as a furious dragon.
“Queen Cendrilla would not take kindly to your exclusion of a promising student on grounds as arbitrary as gender. Doing so ignores the fact that Steppe’s very first dragon rider was female.”
Master Fosco scowled and jerked his head away, which I took to mean I wasn’t expelled.
I pulled myself to my feet with the help of the lieutenants. “M-Magistratus?”
He tilted his horned head, features smoothing into a kindly smile. “Yes, child?”
“Fyrian… the dragon, I mean… She really is innocent. I’ve known her as a dragonet nearly all my life, and she’s never attacked anyone. And she wasn’t anywhere near Mr. Jankin’s office when—”
He held up his huge hand. “My ruling is final.”
“But—”
“Princess Alba,” he snapped, making me jump. “If you insist on acting like a child, I will return you to the Prince Regent for chastisement!”
I picked up my knapsack and stepped back, clamping my jaws shut. Father would lock me up and order the entire Magical Militia to break my bond with Fyrian. If reasoning with them wouldn’t work, I would have to take matters into my own hands.
After excusing myself, I rushed outside to the terraces. Every green dragon I passed stood, but I didn’t have the time or interest to work out why. Fyrian paced in her stall, filling the space with angry bursts of fire. Her flames thrashed against the barrier of her cell, obscuring most of my view.
“Fyri,” I said out loud.
She continued exhaling fire.
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