One of the players, a half-ogre rider on the back of a red dragon, skewered a member of the mage team, knocking him off his mount.
Gasps filled the theatre, and I leaned forward, heart pumping hard.
As the mage plummeted to the ground, his yellow dragon dove and snatched the rider by the cloak. The crowd roared their approval, and the game restarted.
I closed my eyes, sending Madam Skinner a silent word of thanks for having enchanted my armor to stay on a dragon. She’d charged me extra for the feature, and at the time, I’d thought it was for the additional enchantment she’d put on me and my clothing to make me appear male. It turned out that she had put in extra magic to keep me safe.
“Why did the director of the Dragon Sanctuary say you have an affinity with dragons?” asked King Magnar.
“You’ll have to check with him,” I replied.
The King folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his seat. “He was probably just being kind, I suppose.”
“Yes, that’ll be it.” I folded my arms across my chest and fixed my gaze on the drogott match. He’d have to work harder at being devious if he thought I’d spill out all my secrets to impress him.
One of the mages, a large half-ogre with wild, auburn hair and a matching beard, twisted his palms together and produced a watermelon-sized fireball. He threw it to his yellow dragon, who breathed green smoke on the ball before butting it toward a rider who had dyed his skull black.
I leaned forward, breathing hard. At some point during my time at the Dragon Mage Academy, I’d be able to perform such feats. The fireball spun through the air, and the rider dove out of its path.
“Why didn’t he hit that fireball?” I asked.
“It’s filled with poisoned gas,” Fyrian replied.
King Magnar leaned across his throne, invading my space. “Do you even know anything about dragons?”
“No.” I stared ahead.
A dust storm approached from beyond the wards. This one took the shape of a billowing cloud. I turned my attention back to the drogott match, where the rider from before threw a cudgel at the auburn-haired mage.
“Pathetic!” he huffed.
“One of the many warriors here can tell you anything you need to know about dragons.”
The quartet of witches sitting behind us giggled, and King Magnar hissed at them to shut up.
For an all-powerful warlord, he certainly didn’t command the respect of his subordinates. And why didn’t he use grown witches as body guards? Aunt Cendrilla wouldn’t venture into enemy territory without the two-hundred-year old Witch General at her side.
He leaned closer, brushing his arm against mine. “Tell me what you know about dragon eggs.”
I flinched away, pressing my back into Father’s arm. Then I wrinkled my nose. “Nothing. And please keep to your own throne.”
“You must know something.” Both his hands clutched the arm of his throne, and he pushed his velvet-clad upper body even closer.
With a snarl, Father nudged me away. His non-verbal order for me to stop being a brat and answer the King’s question. I turned to him, keeping my expression neutral.
“Not much. I know they’re dormant for decades before they hatch.”
“Have you seen an egg?” Greed gleamed in his turquoise eyes.
“No.”
“What about a hatchling?”
I raised my shoulders. Hatchlings were newly hatched dragons. According to what I’d learned during my assessment week, they were the size of young kittens with undeveloped wings, soft scales, and wouldn’t open their eyes until they reached the next stage of dragon development. “I’ve only seen dragonets.”
King Magnar slumped back into his seat. “You’re useless. Queen Cendrilla would know everything.”
“She’d probably tell you off for being rude. You’re about the same age as her twin boys, you know.”
The witches snickered, and even Father huffed a laugh. King Magnar squirmed in his seat, cheeks flaming. His shoulders slumped forward, and he bowed his head. The wretch was probably hiding tears or a wobbly lip, but I didn’t care. It served him right for using a false representation of himself as a betrothal portrait and for threatening war against a woman old enough to be his mother.
“Jealous, are you?” he muttered.
The roar of the crowd stopped. I glanced at the cadets playing drogott to see if someone had fallen off his dragon. Everyone stared up at the sky in shocked silence.
Whatever I was about to say—something about a brat needing to marry a mother figure—died in the back of my throat. Darkness descended over the amphitheater, taking the shape of thick clouds.
The clouds descended in a rapid swoop, seeming to disperse, not into tiny specs of dust, but larger particles. So far above us, I couldn’t tell their exact size. In a moment, they would settle atop the wards and roll off.
I reached out and grabbed Father’s arm. “This isn’t a dust—”
Thousands of crocodile-brown critters swarmed down from the sky. My stomach dropped, and I shot out of my seat.
“Locusts!” I skittered behind the throne, hands trembling.
More gasps, even louder than before filled the air. The Witch General shot out of her seat, as did Master Fosco and General Thornicroft.
Father stood and unsheathed his Sword of Lightning. “How in the Known World did locusts breech the wards?”
“Every rider, every mage!” shouted Master Fosco. “Mount your dragons and destroy the plague!”
Father’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Stay back. Protect the King.”
Chapter 4
Angry shouts filled the air, accompanied by roars and thunderous claps of leathery wings as the dragons leapt off their seats to attack the locusts. Sweat broke out on my brow, on my palms, loosening my grip on my mage sword. Locusts were supposed to have been eradicated at the end of the ogre-fairy wars. Why had they returned?
The mottled brown insects were as long as my index finger with beady eyes, and sharp, gazelle-like antennae. Their impossibly delicate wings created a macabre applause of clicking and clacking, making my skin crawl and my belly roil with disgust. I stepped in front of King Magnar, wielding the practice sword General Thornicroft had issued to his new dragon mage cadets.
“What are you doing?” hissed the King.
I pushed my magic through the sword, setting its blade alight. “Making sure those locusts don’t reach you… Your Majesty.”
He prodded me in the back. “Idiot! Look around. We’re surrounded by witches.”
His quartet of young witches raised their staffs, creating a transparent barrier around the royal box. Every time a locust flew close, it froze and plummeted to the ground.
The Witch General rushed to Father’s side. “Your Highness! The Militia must scour the country for locusts and destroy them and their eggs.”
“Go,” he replied. With Aunt Cendrilla confined to Elphame, Father was now the ruler of Steppe.
She rushed to the end of the royal box, stuck her hand through the magical barrier, and vaulted over the edge. Her black, patchwork cloak spread out behind her like a carpet, keeping her airborne. The lieutenants rushed after her, and the flock of witches carved through the swarm of locusts with their magic.
Above them, dragons flew through the air, burning the locusts with their fire. Charred insects fell from the heavens, clattering on the ground like black hailstones. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but the acrid stench of burned carapaces still filled my nostrils. It reminded me of singed hair combined with the cloying scent of burning sweetgrass.
King Magnar stepped around me. “What’s happening?”
“Your Majesty.” Master Fosco strode over. “The opening ceremony is canceled. Someone will escort you to the mountain interior for your tour of our sanctuary.”
Before the King could protest, Master Fosco leaped off the edge of the royal box and landed on the back of a purple dragon, who soared into the sky.
Madam Maritimus stepped forward. “This way, please, Your Majesty. My apprentice has brought a vehicle and will be your tour guide.”
King Magnar held out the crook of his arm in what he probably thought was a gentlemanly gesture. “Come along, Princess Alba.”
I reared back. “I have things to do.”
His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “What, precisely, could be more important than obeying the Prince Regent’s orders?”
I turned to the wall of locusts. Fyrian was out there somewhere. What if she needed my help?
“I’m riding about with Stafford,” she replied and sent me an image of my pink-cheeked, toffee-haired classmate whooping and brandishing his flaming sword at the locusts.
My heart sank. “Oh.”
“I thought you’d want me to look after him.”
Stafford and I had ridden Fyrian together a few times after classes, but it was strange to see my two best friends getting along without me.
“Princess Alba!” King Magnar snapped his fingers. “If you do not escort me this instant, I will inform your father of this rudeness.”
A sigh slipped from my lips. If I disobeyed Father’s order, he wouldn’t break the block on my enchantment. “All right.”
“My Lady.” King Magnar crooked his left arm.
Raising my sword, I said, “Sorry, I need my sword arm free in case the locusts attack.”
His face turned scarlet. “The witches will be more than capable of protecting my person.”
I ground my teeth and took his arm. At six feet two, he was well-built for a human, but not as muscular as quarter-ogre males like Stafford.
King Magnar’s lips turned downward with disgust. “You’re rather tall for a girl.”
“Six feet?” I huffed a laugh. “That’s considered small in Steppe.”
“How tall is Queen Cendrilla, then?”
“The same height as me.”
The witches behind us muffled their giggles, and King Magnar narrowed his eyes as though debating whether to reprimand them again. He patted his golden circlet as though reminding himself of his royal status and then headed toward the door.
As we walked down the staircase leading to the side entrance, he murmured,
“You look nothing like your betrothal portrait. I received it on Thor’s Day. I was about to declare war at the insult, when an invitation arrived from Queen Cendrilla on Frigg’s Day.”
A burst of fiery anger shot through my veins. Father had ordered the portrait artist to paint me from memory. I couldn’t imagine what artistic monstrosity that bedraggled old human had created.
“That betrothal portrait you sent Aunt Cendrilla,” I spat. “Was that of the father whose throne you usurped?”
I paused, waiting for the quartet of witches to burst into giggles, but they remained silent. For a long, awkward moment, only our footsteps echoed in the stairwell. Then King Magnar snarled, “Do not speak of affairs on which you know nothing! King Calder was a cruel tyrant.”
“I suppose you think a warlord who conquers weaker countries is better?” the words slipped out, and I was glad Father hadn’t been nearby to witness my insolence.
King Magnar bared his teeth but didn’t reply. For someone who had committed so many atrocities, he was surprisingly sensitive.
Evolene, the petite witch with shoulder-length, chestnut hair stood at the foot of the stairs. We locked eyes, and her features dropped. My own nostrils flared. This was the young witch whose father had abducted me the week before. I’d thought the Witch General would have kept her longer in the Magical Militia headquarters for interrogation.
“Y-your Majesty.” She dipped into an awkward curtsey. “Your Highness. T-the carriage back to the m-mountain awaits.”
“Thank you,” said the King. I tried to slide my hand out from his arm, but he held onto it. “You will sit by my side.”
Why? I wanted to bellow. It was clear that he despised me, and I hadn’t made my dislike of him a secret. Evolene opened the arena doors, and the quartet of little witches stepped out, creating a magical barrier against the locust storm.
The wind carried the acrid stench of burned locusts, making me gag. King Magnar and I hurried to a smaller version of the Fornax Flying Float parked on the parched earth. The doors flew open, revealing a plush, velvet seat, large enough for the six of us.
We stepped into the back, and King Magnar waved away the four young witches. “You sit in the front.”
A groan rumbled in the back of my throat, and I glared at the irritating monarch. His arrogant features twisted into a scowl, yet he helped me into the carriage as if he were some kind of gentleman.
The ride back to the mountain was tense. The King glared at me from the seat opposite, and I sat bolt upright, stomach clenching.
I glanced at the young witches sitting in the front with Evolene, who steered the carriage with a full-sized staff and explained how it worked. They were too engrossed in the magical technology to break the tension with their giggles.
“Can I try?” The youngest witch reached for Evolene’s staff, which rested within a receptacle in the vehicle’s helm.
The eldest slapped her hand. “Don’t be silly, Piper! You can’t use another witch’s staff.” She turned to Evolene. “Sorry about that.”
Evolene ducked her head. “I-it’s all right.”
Piper raised her staff. “Let me use mine, then.”
The nearest witch yanked Piper’s pigtail. “Stupid. If she pulls that staff out, we’ll plummet to the ground.”
“I wasn’t asking to swap staffs this instant!”
I turned out their bickering and glanced at King Magnar, whose scowl deepened. My insides cringed. That comment about him having usurped his own father had been low, considering I knew nothing about the circumstances of King Magnar’s crowning. He was rude, hot-headed and a spoiled brat, but that didn’t mean I had to make assumptions about the way he came to power.
“Your Majesty,” I cleared my throat. “What I said about your father was uncalled—”
“Say no more.” He raised his hand. “My spies informed me you were raised in a backwater, hidden away from nobility like a dirty little secret. It is understandable that you lack manners and decorum.”
The truth in his words hit like a slap, making my eyes sting. I blinked hard, glaring out of the window and searching my bond for Fyrian. She was busy gliding across the skies fighting locusts.
We flew over the vast plains of the Mount Fornax territory, over grasslands, wetlands, and forests. Dragons glided low, guided by their riders to burn locusts without harming any of the plants or animals. That’s where I belonged—out there with Fyrian, protecting the dragon sanctuary. I’d run away and disguised myself as a boy to avoid this arrogant King. Why did I have to endure his insults?
Mount Fornax was carved into rings of concentric terraces, some of which held shallow ponds and rice paddies. Its summit was a flat surface that housed a number of buildings, several training areas, and a great lake. Evolene landed in the courtyard in front of the reception building.
“Here we are, Your Majesty.” She and the other four witches created a protective walkway with their staffs.
It took us no time to stroll through the building and into the observatory hallway a level below the reception area. King Magnar allowed me to let go of his arm but insisted that we walk side by side.
“The wall is made of twenty-foot thick sandstone, enchanted to be transparent.” Evolene strolled in front of us, gesturing at the mountain’s interior. Sunlight streamed down from the surface of the Great Lake, which I’d learned was one way to enter the dragons’ dwelling. A few dragons slumbered in stalls that opened out into the terraces. “The architectural witches created passageways between the rock
for—”
“Yes, yes,” he snapped. “When are we going to get to the eggs? I want to see how they’re kept.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Madam Maritimus didn’t authorize me to—”
“A tour of a dragon facility isn’t complete without a view of the eggs!”
She dipped into a low curtsey. “O-of course, Your Majesty.”
I stared from Evolene to King Magnar. As much as I wanted to say something, it made sense that he should get to see the incubators. Mother had toured the sanctuary when I was very young, and she’d mentioned having seen dragon eggs.
The King turned to me. “How many eggs will we find?”
“I’m not sure.”
He shook his head. “What use are you?”
“I can always make myself useful outside killing locusts.” I hooked my thumb at the exit.
“The Prince Regent ordered you to be my escort.”
“His exact words were to protect the King, actually.”
King Magnar flushed, and the young witches tittered.
“Your Majesty?” Evolene wrung her hands. “At the latest count, there were ninety-eight eggs.”
“Very good!” He bared his teeth into a semblance of a smile. “I’ve always admired witches. They’re so talented and knowledgeable. Far more useful to have around than other females.”
“Yet you insist I keep you company,” I muttered. “What does that say about you?”
“Did you say something, Princess Alba?”
“Nothing I wish to repeat.”
We continued along the observatory to a transparent stairwell. King Magnar’s witches expressed their admiration for the work that had gone into building such a complex structure, and Evolene explained that it was now powered by dragon magic. Gray dragons could create frozen flames that absorbed the ambient magic released by dragons on a daily basis. Fully-charged frozen flames would then power the hallway lights and cooling fans built into the walls.
King Magnar listened to the explanation with his eyes narrowed in contemplation. I suppressed a smile. He probably wished it had been him who had signed a treaty with the dragons and not Aunt Cendrilla.
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