Someone deep within the crowd covered his snicker with a cough. Then another person chuckled. Soon, laughter filled the room. I wanted to tell them all to be quiet, but the membranes of my throat stuck together like dried plaster.
King Magnar threw his head back and let out an ear-splitting roar.
My stomach dropped. I clutched my sword in a death grip, ready for what he would do next.
“Die!” He charged across the room, sword low, hate flaring in his eyes.
Standing my ground with teeth clenched, I readied for his attack. From the low angle of his sword, he was aiming to split me from crotch to collarbone. To break the enchantment and turn him back into a young man, I needed to strike at that helmet.
At the last second, I pivoted, letting him charge past.
King Magnar growled and turned around, this time with his sword aimed at my throat. “Stand still!”
With all the power I could muster, I lengthened the Parched Sword’s flame into a lance and sliced through one of his helmet’s massive, steel horns.
King Magnar froze, eyes wide. The helmet rumbled like a volcano about to erupt, and clouds of black smoke rushed out from the broken horn, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. He bellowed like a wounded beast and threw his helmet to the ground.
It clanked on the sandstone floor and bounced, once, twice, before the horns broke off and shattered into a mass of sparks and metal shards. King Magnar fell hard on his back.
Then the broken helmet rumbled again.
My heart jumped into my throat, and I pulled back my power from the Parched Sword. “It’s going to explode!”
The witches screamed. Warriors rushed out into the terraces. Two rough hands grabbed me by the arms and yanked me to the far side of the room.
“Of all the idiotic things you have done, this is the worst,” Rufus snarled into my ear.
“Hurry!” cried Stafford.
The three of us dove through the exit and landed hard on the floor of the dark hallway, seconds before the helmet exploded. Acrid, black smoke billowed out of the door stinging my eyes and filling my lungs. It wrapped around my windpipe like a noose and wouldn’t let go.
Fyrian pushed more magic into me, giving me the energy to cough. I glanced down at my classmates who still lay on the floor. “A-are you all right?”
Neither of them answered.
“Evolene, Freja!” I shouted. “You need to clear the smoke with your magic!”
“A-all right!” shouted Evolene from far away.
Moments later, the air cleared. Rufus and Stafford clamored to their knees and coughed.
“Where’s Gobi?” I asked.
“H-here,” said a shaky voice from behind. “Rufus told me to leave when you cut off King Magnar’s horn.”
I exhaled my relief and turned to him in the dark. The dim light of the holding stall shone on his pale face, and from his glassy eyes, it was clear that he had found elements of the duel disturbing.
“It’s good that you got out safely.” I gave him a pat on the arm.
Gobi scowled and tossed his head. My shoulders drooped. It would take a while longer to win him over.
Rufus stood and helped Stafford up. “We had better check on the others.”
With a nod, I walked back into the room, raising the Parched Sword and pushing a little power into its blade for illumination.
Ashes fell like impaired snowdrops, covering the floor with a thin coating of gray. King Magnar lay face-down on the floor, his blonde hair singed and with large rips in his chainmail. Around him knelt Evolene and his four sisters, who appeared unhurt by the blast.
“What is going on here?” boomed a loud voice.
I spun to find Masters Fosco, Roopal, Klauw, and a dark-skinned male I didn’t recognize, standing at the door.
Master Roopal rubbing his stump. “We sensed dark fairy magic. What did you do, Cadet Bluford?”
My jaw dropped. “Me? I didn’t—”
“There is only one resident in Mount Fornax with fairy blood,” snarled Master Fosco as he advanced on me. “What did you do?”
“King Magnar and I had a duel—”
“And you thought you would use the dark powers of your great-grandfather to win?” Master Roopal furrowed his thick, gray brows.
“I only used Fyrian’s power and this Parched Sword,” I said. “But King Magnar’s armor oozed black magic.”
Master Roopal glanced at Master Fosco. They seemed to communicate without words. I stood in front of them, shuffling my feet. A few of the warriors returned to the room from the terraces to watch what would happen next, but I assumed that most of them had disappeared to the Warrior Queen for a goblet or two of dragon’s tears.
“Help me up!” snapped King Magnar.
We all turned to find him struggling to his feet between Evolene and Freja. As soon as he righted himself, he shrugged them off.
King Magnar bared his blunt teeth, which appeared even whiter now because of the soot covering his face. “You have besmirched my honor for the last time.”
I scowled. “What are you talking about? I won both duels, even though you cheated with black magic!”
“Albert Bluford,” he snarled, “For the offense you have wrought against the Savannah Empire, I now declare war on the United Kingdom of Seven!”
My breath caught. “What?”
King Magnar tossed his head. “Master Fosco, I demand the use of a messenger dragon. King Armin must be informed of his son’s transgressions!”
The words were on the tip of my tongue. I had to tell King Magnar that Uncle Armin wasn’t my father. But with so many dragon warriors around, the confession stuck in my throat.
An angry breath escaped Master Fosco’s nose. “I will not allow my dragons to be used for such a purpose.”
My shoulders collapsed with relief, and I shot Master Fosco a grateful look. Hopefully, King Magnar’s temper would cool, and he’d change his mind about the declaration of war.
Master Fosco turned his glare on me. His maroon eyes smoldered like burning coals, and he said through gritted teeth, “However, I will send a dragonet to Bluford’s father, informing him that his child has been expelled!”
Chapter 15
Master Fosco grabbed my arm and marched me to the exit of the holding stall, past the charred remains of the bullfrogs burning on the barbacoa. I struggled in his grip and turned around to find Masters Roopal and Klauw speaking to a ranting King Magnar in low voices. A pang of regret shot through my chest. Being expelled was bad enough, but my actions had caused a war!
I had to make things right. “Please, sir, let me go back there. I think I can convince King Magnar to change his mind.”
“Do you know what you have done?” Master Fosco stormed out of the room still holding onto my arm. Gas lamps now illuminated the hallway, and curtain-sized cobwebs cast their shadows from overhead. “You have stirred the sleeping dragons.”
I jogged to keep up with his angry strides. “What?”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed open a wooden door and hurried through another hallway with complex runes etched on the walls. They were the patterns I’d seen used by architectural witches. Voices echoed behind us, presumably from onlookers who wanted to see me get punished.
“Please, let me go back.” I pulled on my entrapped arm. “It was a duel, and I won it fair and square. King Magnar is honor-bound to hand over the eggs he stole.”
With a snarl, Master Fosco wrenched a door open and stepped through into a stairwell. My heart clattered so hard, I could feel it in the back of my throat. What was wrong? It was clear to everyone that King Magnar had stolen the eggs. The only thing we didn’t know was how he and his sisters had committed the crime.
“I said all of this in the Council of Dragons meeting,” said Fyrian. “But they just told me I was too young to understand diplomacy.”
“But you’ve been Aunt Cendrilla’s messenger dragonet for over fifteen years!” I replied.
I grunted. No truer words had been said. Diplomacy was a waste of time. What was wrong with tying King Magnar to a chair and punching his arrogant face until he handed over the eggs? King Magnar flaunted his interest in raising dragon eggs and even went so far as to take all the books on the subject from the library.
We continued up the stairs and along the hallways, until Master Fosco opened a door that lead to an external terrace. Dragon moths swarmed towards us, looking monstrously fluorescent in the indigo sky. I flinched, raising my free arm to cover my face, but they followed us through the terrace. A few of them landed on the Parched Sword resting on my hip, and I longed to shoo them away, but more of the flying menaces tried to land on my face. A warm wind carried the faint scent of burned locusts, adding to my unease.
“You have to do something about this fear of flying insects,” said Fyrian. “Anyone who knows your weakness can use it against you.”
I didn’t reply. She was right, but I had more pressing matters. Like stopping a war. “Sir, if you would—”
“Silence!” Master Fosco continued along a terrace of chamomile flowers, and it wasn’t until we ascended two staircases that I realized we were headed towards the reception area.
“I think we’re going to pass your stall,” I told Fyrian.
“Hold on,” she replied. “I’ll fly up and say hello.”
“Where are you?”
“Still at the Council of Dragons. Everything stopped when we noticed the dark fairy magic. They all think you did it because of your fairy blood. No one listened to me when I said it was King Magnar’s enchanted helmet.”
“Oh.”
We reached Fyrian’s terrace. Each of the stalls was empty. I supposed the other greens who occupied them were also at the Council of Dragons.
Fyrian poked her head out from her stall.
Master Fosco stepped into her stall and let go of my arm. I made a show of rotating my aching shoulder, but the rage burning in his eyes made me stop.
“Your display of dark fairy magic riled up every single dragon on this mountain!” he roared.
My breath caught. “Why are you blaming me?”
Master Fosco loomed over me, eyes blazing, teeth bared. It might have been my imagination, but they seemed sharper than usual. “How dare you use such powers against a foreign monarch? And here of all places?”
“But I did—”
“That last magical flare awoke a sleeping dragon!”
“But it wasn’t—”
“Silence!” He roared in a voice that sounded more dragon than human.
My heart jumped into my throat, and I flinched.
Fyrian lowered her head down to Master Fosco and roared. Gusts of hot, smoky air whooshed through my hair, and I closed my eyes, cringing at the sound.
“No interruptions from you, either!” he yelled back. “You should have informed the Council of Dragons the moment her power changed!”
Fyrian reared back as though struck.
My eyes bulged, and my pulse throbbed in my throat. Master Fosco had to be powerful if he didn’t feel threatened by Fyrian’s anger. At times like this, she would make a disparaging remark about Master Fosco, but our connection remained silent.
He breathed hard, nostrils flared, chest heaving like bellows, until his expression turned grave. “Your power is a danger to Mount Fornax.”
My stomach dropped, and I blinked several times to stave off tears. He really was going to expel me. “Master Fosco, I only used my own and Fyrian’s magic. King Magnar—”
He placed both hands on my shoulders. “Do you know why this territory is warded against high fairies?”
“To keep them from persecuting dragons.”
“Partially. Most dragons here despise high fairies for the way they were treated in Elphame.” His jaw tightened. “Young Fyrian was just an egg during that time, but those old enough to have lived through the centuries in the fairy realm were the subject of painful and humiliating experiments.”
I bowed my head. This information wasn’t new. “But I’m not a high fairy.”
“Did your mother ever tell you about her father?”
“Prince Evander?” I’d only seen him once. He was a golden-haired fairy with matching dragonfly wings. According to Mother, he had dozens of offspring all over the Known World, including his only legitimate child, Aunt Cendrilla. “She didn’t tell me much.”
“His father is the Forgotten King, a fairy whose deeds are so dark, he was shut away for the safety of the Known World. We cannot even speak his name for fear of waking him from his confinement.”
“Right.” Master Roopal had covered this in the History of Dragons class.
“He created dragons, twisted and tormented them to form a ferocious army against the Queen of the Fairies. A dragon can never forget his foul magic, and everyone felt that same power during your duel.”
“Then it had to have come from King Magnar’s armor!” Before he could accuse me again of using foul magic, I blurted out everything I’d seen during the duel, and how it had taken the power of Fyrian, the Parched Sword and myself to destroy that armor. I gestured at Fyrian. “She’ll tell you!”
Master Fosco turned to her, and she nodded.
When his brows rose, relief drenched my brittle nerves like a summer rain. I added, “She was watching the fight and only got agitated when he pulled on the helmet.”
He stepped back, face tense. My throat went dry. He was probably still thinking of a way to get rid of me.
I clutched my chest. This would be just like the Magical Militia, where the Witch General expelled me because I had no magic. This time, I’d have to leave for having the wrong magic. I swallowed hard, and the membranes of my throat stuck together. Once he’d thrown me out, I’d have to return to the palace, where Father would also devise a way to get rid of me. He wouldn’t want me getting in the way of his happy life with Aunt Cendrilla and his precious sons and heirs.
At last, Master Fosco spoke. “Why do I detect the dark magic on you?”
I gasped. “What?”
“You reek of it.”
My head snapped to Fyrian, and I said out loud, “Is this true?”
“Your smell has changed,” she replied, “But I think it’s from the battle.”
Master Fosco’s brows pulled together. “You cannot stay here as long as you still smell of that magic.”
Fyrian let out a high-pitched whine, and I couldn’t help but whimper. There was no defense against his accusation, but I couldn’t leave. Not when I’d finally made a few friends, gained the respect of my peers, and bonded with Fyrian. “Isn’t there a way I can stay here?”
Master Fosco shook his head. “The situation is tense. Dragons are agitated, our warriors are scattered across the country, fighting locusts, and making fruitless searches for the eggs. Now that the sleeping dragons are stirring, you cannot stay in Mount Fornax.”
My shoulders drooped. King Magnar had somehow infected me. In all of my encounters with Master Fosco, he’d never mentioned my scent, and neither had Fyrian. All the dragons I’d encountered had either been friendly or dismissive.
He placed a hand between my shoulder blades and guided me out of Fyrian’s stall. “I will contact the palace.”
A protest stuck in my windpipe. The capital city was probably the best place for me right now. Mount Bluebeard, being the largest agricultural district in steppe, would likely be infested with locusts. I shuddered at the thought of all those flying insects chomping down on all our plants.
We walked in silence over the grassy terrace, cooled by a breeze carrying the scent of Golden Callisti apples. Now that I wasn’t so close to Master Fosco, the dragon moths left me alone to fly around his head. My heart sank so low, I couldn’t even marvel at the way he ignored them. What would Father say when he discovered I’d been expelled again?
Master Fosco’s office was a gallery of paint
ings of Aunt Cendrilla with Fogo, her purple dragon. I stood in the corner, shoulders hunched, defeat curving my spine. This was the moment he would pen a letter to Father telling him to collect his daughter, the unwanted burden.
He walked to a painting of the pair of them shooting flames into the horizon and placed his hand on the thick, golden frame. It dissolved into a mirror.
I clapped my hand over my mouth. In the Magical Militia, we had learned about such devices. They required huge amounts of power to send messages over long distances. I supposed that with the mountain being powered by dragons’ residual magic, he could afford to use it.
“Palace,” he growled.
The reflection swirled into an image of Aunt Cendrilla’s study. Father sat on his silver throne with the Witch General and the Magistratus. I groaned. Those were the pair who had condemned Fyrian to death. All three of them scowled at the disturbance.
Father set down his quill. “Have you found the eggs?”
“No, and the situation has become even more disturbing.” Master Fosco beckoned at me to stand next to him.
On legs as heavy as lead, I trudged to the frame and cowered next to the Director. Two deep frown lines appeared between Father’s brows, and his lips thinned as though he was bracing himself for news on my next round of failures. Even the Witch General leaned forward. I didn’t dare meet the Magistratus’ eyes. This was an ogre who had served the country for centuries and was quick to suggest the harshest punishments for those whose crimes were severe enough to be tried at the Ogre Senate.
“What. Has. She. Done?” Father’s voice was tight.
Insides shriveling with shame, I shrank further into myself. The three most powerful beings in Steppe were about to learn about my so-called dark magic.
“This… former cadet dueled with King Magnar.”
Father’s gaze fell on me. “Did you win?”
My heart accelerated. This was my chance to give my side of the story. “I won by disarming him. Then he put on a magic helmet and turned into the warrior in the betrothal portrait. That’s where the black magic came from, not me. Fyrian got really upset about it, and so did the other dragons. We both joined forces to destroy the armor, and it caused an explosion.”
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