King Magnar and his sisters sat a few seats away, but his glare burned the side of my face. I sat upright, feigning serenity and confidence while we waited for the instructor to arrive.
“Good morning, cadets!” Dr. Duclair glided three feet above the floor. Her flying cloak hovered behind her like a magic carpet. “Congratulations on being chosen for your various academies, and welcome to your first lesson in healing.”
The witches at the front gave her a round of applause. Then King Magnar’s sisters joined in. I glanced around at all the other males, who exchanged confused looks.
“We would have had a tour of the healing facility, but my healers are overrun with patients in these stressful times.”
I couldn’t imagine how the dragons were feeling, not knowing the location of their eggs.
Fyrian sighed. “Fosco is deploying the troublemakers out to find the eggs. Sitting around waiting for others is making everyone’s scales itch. The council has expanded their search across the borders, and we have teams entering the Boreal desert and the Savannah Empire.”
I glanced at King Magnar, who locked eyes with me for a second before looking away. “Did he agree?”
“According to Fosco, yes.”
“Roseate, please bring in our first patient.”
The pink-haired witch walked out of the room and returned with a wicker basket. Flames erupted out from its depths in a plume that extended through its breathing holes. Roseate flinched and dropped it on the table.
I leaned forward. “Is that a dragonet?”
Dr. Duclair snapped on a pair of Hevea tree latex gloves and a wide-brimmed hat before opening the basket. “This young patient was the victim of a flare of fairy magic.”
The violet cat from earlier flew out and hissed at Dr. Duclair. She stroked its head with her fingertips, eliciting a purr. “We’ve tried every known cure for this little dragonet, but it won’t revert to normal. Any suggestions?”
I furrowed my brow. Without the intervention of a more powerful being like my cousin Chrysus or the Queen of the Fairies, nothing could be done for the dragonet until Aunt Cendrilla returned from her enchanted sleep. But I doubted that either would be welcome in Mount Fornax.
“I thought dragons were resistant to both witch and fairy magic,” said King Magnar.
“Normally, they are,” replied Dr. Duclair. “But this dragonet was exposed to a hybrid source of power, and young dragonets have not yet absorbed the required ambient magic to form a strong enough magical immune system. This one had transitioned from hatchling only last year.”
A ginger-haired witch from the Healer Academy raised her hand. “Can we petition the original castor to reverse the spell?”
“She is indisposed.”
I raised my hand. “What about gravestone?”
Dr. Duclair tapped her lips. “An interesting suggestion. Explain.”
“We could experiment with different quantities of it until we worked out the minimum amount to negate the enchantment.”
She nodded. “Excellent. Would anyone like to volunteer?”
Rufus growled. I guessed he thought that I deserved to implement my own solution, but Dr. Duclair was trying to protect me. My glamor would wear off if I touched gravestone.
King Magnar stood. “I will.”
She beckoned him over, and Roseate brought several samples of gravestone. King Magnar picked up a pea-sized rock and pressed it on the winged cat’s head. Nothing happened, so he tried one the size of a penny, when that didn’t work, he tried a lump of gravestone as big as his fist. The winged cat transformed into a dragonet and let out a triumphant roar.
King Magnar’s sisters burst into a round of applause.
Dr. Duclair frowned. “This dragonet cannot use a stone this size. Continue with increasingly small amounts until we find one that is both effective and lightweight enough for it to carry out messenger duties.”
King Magnar continued his task, while we all sat in silence. This was my opportunity to study him. All traces of arrogance had melted away, leaving a happy and excited young man enjoying his time with a peculiar creature. From the proud expressions of all his sisters, he was more of an older brother to them than a King.
I supposed he was handsome for a human, but if his sisters were witches, wouldn’t that make him a quarter-ogre? From his slender build, he was probably one-eighth. How could someone like him have conquered so many countries?
“Don’t underestimate Magnar,” said Fyrian.
“I’m not. The brute in his betrothal photo looked capable of killing a dozen men with one blow. Maybe he has a champion and sent a picture of him to Aunt Cendrilla.”
“Why would he want his champion to marry Auntie Rilla?”
I shook my head. “It makes no sense.”
At last, King Magnar found a piece of gravestone the size of a gold crown to undo the magic. Dr. Duclair instructed him to attach it to a little collar. Then he placed it around the creature’s neck, and the happy dragonet flew away.
“Well done, Cadet Magnar.”
“I have a question,” said the King.
Dr. Duclair ushered him to his seat. “Go ahead.”
He strolled back to his sisters, who gave him affectionate little shoulder pats. “Why is Mount Fornax warded against high fairies if dragons are resistant to their magic?”
“Many dragons can become irrationally agitated in the presence of a high fairy,” replied Dr. Duclair. “You will learn the full antagonistic history between the two species from Master Roopal’s history classes.”
“I’m not like that,” said Fyrian.
“How many high fairies have you met?” I asked.
“Prince Vanus visits the palace sometimes.”
“But he helped to build Mount Fornax,” I replied. “I expect that all the dragons are used to him.”
“Chrysus is a high fairy. He’s irritating but that’s because he kept trying to grab my tail.”
I smirked. “He couldn’t do that now.”
I could feel Fyrian’s wide grin. “I’d like to see the little brat try.”
Madam Duclair gave us a lecture on how to calm an enraged dragon with logic and soothing words. Then she changed the subject to a list of foods each type of dragon preferred.
Her next patient was an orange dragon with watery eyes, who wouldn’t eat because she was worried about the missing eggs. Madam Duclair fed the dragon an elixir that stimulated her appetite. Then she showed us how to add herbal medicines to dragons’ meals and stuffed a lamb carcass with mood-enhancing plants. The orange dragon roasted the lamb with her flames and gobbled it in two bites.
After the healing class, Stafford and I went to Fyrian’s stall instead of the mess hall. This was my chance to soak the Parched Sword in her venom. The violet dragonet who had been temporarily cured of being a cat must have known where we were headed, because it perched on Stafford’s shoulder.
The sun hung low within a pale blue sky with a sparse covering of mauve clouds. A breeze more humid than the day before blew across the terrace, carrying the scent of grapefruits from below.
We walked along a terrace overgrown with wildflowers. I recognized the fuchsia petals of cosmos among purple bluebells and yellow calendulas.
Stafford stopped and whirled on me, brow furrowed. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this, Albert?”
“I told you already. It’s the only way to force a confession out of him.” He was silent for a while, and I asked, “What?”
Stafford hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather breeches. “Nothing.”
“There’s something you want to say. Spit it out.”
“Remember that fight we had last week?”
I clenched my teeth. He was referring to the time I chased him down the hallways and tried to stop him from telling Phoenix to protect Evolene from our accusations of murder. With Fyrian’s power, I’d caught up with him and knocked him to the ground, but he was too strong for
Ivan and me to subdue. “This will be different.”
“It won’t. We dueled all the time at the orphanage. First, we’d fight with branches, then when someone got disarmed, we’d fight with fists. You’ll get beaten up.”
It was my turn to hunch my shoulders. I had a chance of winning if King Magnar was completely human or even one-eighth of an ogre, but a male quarter-ogre would have twice my strength.
“That’s why I have to defeat him with my sword,” I replied, thinking of Father. “The Prince Regent fights larger opponents all the time.”
Stafford sighed. “With the Sword of Lightning.”
“And I have the Parched Sword.” We continued in silence until we reached Fyrian’s stall.
She sat on her haunches like a lioness, looking down at us through bright, scarlet eyes. “I’ve put as much venom as I could into the trough.”
Stafford waved at her, and she lowered her snout to sniff at his hair. He grinned and gave her a gentle pat.
“You should ask him to be your second,” she said.
I shook my head. “That wouldn’t be fair on Stafford. He’d say yes out of loyalty and make a powerful enemy.”
I turned toward the terrace and pushed my magic through the Parched Sword. A jet of steam shot out and dissipated into the breeze. It took several tries for me to empty it to the hilt, but as soon as the last traces of water had gone, I dipped the Parched Sword into the trough.
Fumes rose from Fyrian’s venom, which reminded me of the resin of a Eucalyptus tree. Sharp and mentholated.
Stafford glanced over my shoulder. “Smells like pine. What does it do?”
“If I push my power through this sword, it will create flames hotter than any dragon.”
“You’ll kill him.”
“Not if I’m careful.”
“I don’t know about this, Albert.” Stafford rubbed his chin. “You could get into a lot of trouble.”
Still keeping the blade in the trough, I glared up into his hazel eyes. “Whose side are you on?”
He reared back. “What do you mean?”
“All the eggs and all the hatchlings have been stolen, and most of the dragon warriors are scouring the country to find them. You saw that orange dragon who wouldn’t eat her food. She’s depressed. They’re all pining for their young.”
He furrowed his brow. “I know, but Master Fosco told us to—”
“The thief is following us from class to class, stealing library books on how to hatch dragon eggs and learning all about how to take care of the hatchlings he’s stolen. He’ll probably use some kind of dark magic to make them hatch early, too.”
Stafford grimaced and stared into his hands.
“Well? Are you going to tell me he’s innocent?”
Stafford shook his head. “But he’s a warlord and you’re a—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence!” I gave him a gentle prod on the chest. Even if a half-ogre wasn’t close by, their sensitive ears would pick up our conversation from the terrace.
“I’m just worried about my best friend,” he said in a small voice.
Fyrian tilted her head to the side. “He’s so sweet.”
Guilt slithered up the back of my throat. My anger needed to be directed at that arrogant, thieving King Magnar, not at my friend. I still needed to make up for having locked him in my room last week. “Thank you, Stafford.”
His shoulders lowered as slowly as an armadillo coming out of its protective curl. “For what?”
“For being my best friend. And I’m sorry, too.” The gauge in the Parched Sword was full, so I pulled it out of the trough and placed it back on my sword belt.
“What if you lose?”
“Then I’ll at least have tried my best.” I bumped him on the arm with my shoulder. “Let’s grab some stew before we duel.”
Fyrian left to get the latest update on the Council of Dragons meetings, and we headed for the mess hall.
By the time we had left, the sun had dipped closer to the horizon, darkening the sky. Shadows from the trees in the terrace loomed over us, and the first set of dragon moths the size of my hand streamed out of the stalls. They flapped gossamer-thin wings that glowed like candlelight. Suppressing a shudder, I picked up my pace. No matter how many times I saw the creatures, they still made my flesh crawl.
A group of older cadets strode toward us. I recognized Niger, and a few others from the drogott team. As soon as the males caught sight of us, they grinned. Niger’s long, auburn hair and beard made his flashing of teeth look particularly blood-thirsty.
“Bluford, you will be late.” Niger clapped me on the shoulder.
“Huh?” I glanced at Stafford, who shrugged. “We were going to get a—”
“The duel, boy! It starts as soon as you arrive. King Magnar awaits.”
“But what about dinner?” asked Stafford.
“The servers have set up a station downstairs, and a dozen barrels of ale await. Afterward, we’re dunking the victor in dragon’s tears at the Warrior Queen!”
“But I don’t drink spirit—”
The drogott team erupted into cheers, drowning me out. A heavy coating of apprehension lined my belly. I hadn’t imagined there would be so many spectators for a simple gentlemen’s duel.
Niger stepped between us, wrapping a meaty arm around both our shoulders. He turned to Stafford. “Are you her second, boy?”
Stafford’s eyes widened. “Ye—”
“I won’t need one.” The words tumbled out of my mouth.
Niger joined the drogott team for another round of cheers. “That’s the spirit. Now it’s time to show the mighty King of the Savannah Empire the strength of a dragon mage!”
Chapter 13
Niger and the drogott team marched Stafford and me across multiple terraces, down dozens of staircases, and through a dark hallway. The cadets all took turns raising their flaming fists to provide illumination as we walked. These hallways were wider than the ones on the higher levels of the mountains, and our footsteps echoed, reminding me of a cave.
With each step, my heart pounded faster. I hoped they weren’t leading us into a trap to weaken me before I dueled King Magnar.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“The holding stalls,” replied Niger. “Tamers used to place freshly caught dragons there to cool off before releasing them to the center of the mountain. That was back in the old days, when Her Majesty used to lead the more dangerous missions.”
“Oh.” I raised my head, catching glimpses of etchings on the wall. They appeared to be ancient runes, but I couldn’t recognize their purpose. My throat dried, and I swallowed hard. “Why aren’t they used now?”
Another cadet answered from behind. “Now that we’ve caught most of the larger dragons that escaped the realm of the fairies, we don’t have so many that need cooling off. Most wild dragons are happy to come here and join others of their own species.”
“Is the dueling venue much further?” asked Stafford from Niger’s other side. “I don’t hear anyone.”
The other cadets snickered, but it was Niger who spoke first. “That’s because we’re making an entrance through the hallway instead of the terrace. All the holding stalls have their own sound barriers, so you’ll be able to pummel King Magnar as much as you want.”
Another male snickered. “And no one will hear him scream!”
Bellowing laughter filled the hallway, and I sighed. The drogott team seemed to think the duel was entertainment instead of a noble quest to rescue the missing eggs. I was about to correct their assumption, when a small figure skulked across the hallway, clutching an apprentice staff.
“Evolene?” I shouted.
She froze.
The drogott team stopped talking.
“Evolene!”
She turned around, eyes bulging. In the light of the cadets’ flaming fists, she looked as pale as a ghoul. I still hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to her alone since I’d beaten her father unconscious
when he’d tried to abduct me. The Witch General had taken her away for interrogation, and Madam Maritimus kept her busy as a sort-of apprentice.
“I need to talk to her.”
Niger pulled his arm off my shoulder and stepped aside, freeing me to walk toward the frightened witch.
“Albert.” Stafford’s voice was sharp. “Please don’t—”
“I won’t hurt her.” I quickened my pace.
“W-what do you want?” Evolene shrank against the wall, lips trembling.
I caged her between my arms. “A favor.”
The males behind me gasped. I shook my head. They probably thought I demanded a favor of the other kind. Evolene owed me for her role in her father’s abduction plot. Without her glamor spell, faked murder scene and secret tunnels, Jack Galloway would never have succeeded in knocking me out and tying me up.
“What k-kind?” she replied.
“Those little witches who follow King Magnar everywhere. I want you to befriend them and find out what they know about the stolen eggs.”
“I-I couldn’t!”
My lip curled. “Why? Because it would be dishonest?”
She nodded.
I advanced on her, balling my fists. “I’m about to say something you won’t want the others to hear. Do you know any enchantments to muffle sounds?”
Evolene pressed her lips together and erected a silencing barrier of shimmering silver. The drogott team groaned, and I raised my brows. One-way silencing enchantments were difficult, and even more challenging for a witch using an apprentice staff and with no formal tuition.
“Is befriending a group of girls whose brother stole a whole generation of dragons worse than anything you’ve done?”
Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t know what you—”
I bared my teeth. “Is it worse than creating a murder scene and letting an innocent dragon take the blame? Worse than framing Master Fosco for a murder that never took place? Or worse than saying nothing while a dozen witches try to execute that same dragon?”
“But you know what my father was like,” she whined.
“Don’t use him as an excuse for not helping the dragons. You’re living in their sanctuary, learning how to be a proper witch and getting housed and fed because of them.”
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