The spriggan threw his head back and laughed. “I have had centuries to dream up ways to control the dragons. Your fire will only strengthen my matrix!”
A screech pierced the air, and a shadow fell the landscape. I glanced up through the net. Two massive dragons flew above us—the purple and the silver.
My heart froze, and a combination of relief and trepidation swept through my insides. Either the sleeping dragons would save us or destroy us all.
The galloping of escaping horses made the ground rumble harder than before. King Magnar scooped his sisters with both arms and mounted his orlovi. The bird flapped its wings and sprinted after the horses.
Stafford’s tiny head leaned out from the purple dragon’s neck. “I tried telling her not to attack, but I don’t think she’s listening. Hide under Fyrian. The sleeping dragons are furious!”
The Spriggan’s rheumy eyes bulged. “What manner of dragons are these?”
“Oh, no!” said Fyrian.
I spun. Fogo’s forked tongue curled around the hatchling, and he put it in his mouth. My breath caught. “What is he do—”
“There’s no time!” Fyrian opened her jaws. “You two have to hide in my mouth. They’re going to overload his matrix!”
I gripped Evolene’s wrist. “Get inside. The sleeping dragons are about to set everything alight!”
Her eyes widened, and she pulled at her arm. “What?”
Both dragons inhaled a noisy, deep breath.
“NOW!” yelled Fyrian.
I wrapped my arms around Evolene’s thin body, picked her up and sprinted the short distance to Fyrian’s open mouth. The witch was strong for her size and tried to wriggle out of my grip, but I held her tighter.
She gasped. “A-Al—”
The air went still. It was the pause before the sleeping dragons would set the landscape, and everyone in it, alight. My blood turned to ice. Fyrian’s lower jaw was like an impossibly high wall. I couldn’t scale it while handling a writhing Evolene!
Fyrian rolled out her tongue, and I sprinted up it like a ramp. Fire, hotter than the noon sun, descended on us like jets of magma. My every exposed hair shriveled into my skin, and before I got myself cooked, I dove into her mouth.
As her jaws slammed shut, I let go of Evolene and fell onto the firm, moist, mentholated pillow of Fyrian’s tongue.
“Y-you saved my life!” whispered Evolene.
“I couldn’t leave you out there to burn.” My skin itched and stung, like I’d spent the day lying in the sun.
“D-does…” She fell silent.
When it looked like she wouldn’t complete her sentence, she said, “Does that mean we’re friends?”
“Yes.”
She reached out and wrapped her fingers around my hand. “I’ve never had a friend before.”
My throat thickened. No matter how many terrible things happened over the course of the years, I still had a better life than most. How many other people my age could boast having two parents, a fairy godmother who was also the Queen of the Ogres, cousins and two nice uncles?
I squeezed her hand back. “Well, I’ve never had a friend who was a witch.”
“What do you think is happening out there?” she whispered.
Fyrian opened up her vision. White flames engulfed her right, and yellow flames her left. I didn’t know how her eyes didn’t shrivel up from staring at all that fire.
“You won’t have seen this, but they’ve burned the net into ashes,” she said.
“Where’s the spriggan?”
“It grabbed the carriage, teleported ten feet away, and disappeared in a cloud of flames.”
I sat up, shaking off the vision. “What?”
“It had to leave the eggs behind when the carriage turned to ash.”
“Is it dead?”
“We don’t know.” She opened her mouth and unrolled her tongue, exposing a landscape of blackened soil covered by frost. “The venom I’d sprayed earlier made everything burn hotter. They had to use frozen flames to control the spread of fire.”
I stepped down from her tongue, noting a huge, pristine pile of dragon eggs. They were about twelve inches long, twice the size of the eggs of an ostrich, and resembled stone crystals. Some were as purple of amethysts, others as blue as lapis lazuli. Each color represented a type of dragon. I smiled at the dark green-malachite egg.
Stafford tumbled out from the purple dragon and rolled over the ashen ground. “Albert. Evolene!” After picking himself up, he raced toward us, arms outstretched, hazel eyes sparkling. He swept us both into a lung-squeezing hug. “You survived!”
“Where’s Fogo?” I asked.
“He disappeared into the valley,” replied Fyrian. “Hold on… He says he’s found something.”
Fogo reappeared, clutching a writhing King Magnar in his front claws. I snarled and clenched my fists. Fogo should have bitten the wretch through the stomach. He dropped the monarch to the ground, letting him fall with a satisfying thud.
King Magnar’s turquoise eyes widened. He pulled off his helmet, reverted back to his true self, and backed away. “None of this is my fault!”
Triumph warmed my insides, and I bared my teeth. “I’ve finally worked out how you did it!”
He stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re in league with a spriggan. It did something to the seat in the royal carriage. That’s why Queen Cendrilla’s babies acted up. They were trying to protect their mother from the spriggan’s magic.”
His lips tightened into a thin line. “You can’t prove anything.”
“The spriggan needed the high fairy wards to go down, so when Prince Vanus came to transport Aunt Cendrilla to Elphame for her usual enchanted sleep, that’s when it arrived to steal the eggs.”
He shook his head and backed away. Fyrian lay in wait behind him like a grinning crocodile. I advanced on King Magnar, looking forward to the nasty fright that awaited him.
Squaring my shoulders, I ground my fist into my palm. “The spriggan incapacitated the healers and transported the eggs into an artifact that made them lighter. Then it put them into the royal carriage.”
“This is nonsense!” He lifted his chin, trying to look imperious, but his feet told a different story. They moved backward in Fyrian’s direction. “Stop this slander, or the United Kingdom of Seven will regret this!”
“You and your four youngest sisters were the distraction. And so were the locusts and riots. To get the eggs from the palace, everyone needed to run around, tending to your little disasters.”
His cheeks turned an ugly red. “You would dare!”
Fyrian roared, making him stiffen. His turquoise eyes bulged. “T-tell the dragons to back away. If you give me a dozen eggs, I won’t declare war on the United Kingdom of Seven.”
“Really?” I said between clenched teeth.
“We can make a magical boon on it.” He held out his hand.
I nodded and walked toward him.
“What are you doing?” hissed Fyrian.
“He’s going to hold the threat of war over us forever if I don’t stop him.”
“But—”
“No. Tell the others how important King Armin is to the country, especially now that locusts have destroyed so many crops. If livestock doesn’t get fed, they won’t survive long enough to become meals for dragons. We’re going to need more imports from the United Kingdom of Seven, and if he wages war against them, Steppe and Mount Fornax will lose their most important ally, and Aunt Cendrilla will be heartbroken.”
“All right.”
“Evolene, can you suppress my glamour for five minutes?”
She wrung her hands. “A-are you sure about this?”
“This is the only way I know to stop King Magnar’s threats.”
Evolene raised her staff. She was an expert at this kind of enchantment, as she’d managed to make her wretched father look like a twenty-year old man in the peak of health.
My skin tingled,
and platinum hair cascaded down my chest. I glanced down at my now-female body and rolled my shoulders.
His eyes widened. “P-princess Alba?”
“It’s me.”
He took a step closer. “You were Albert all along?”
“Yes.” I gave him the blandest of smiles.
“B-but why?” He stepped closer again.
My hand twitched toward the Parched Sword, but I forced my arms to remain at my sides. I wouldn’t duel King Magnar in front of sleeping dragons. If any of that dark magic was released, they might raze all of us to ashes.
His eyes shone, and he reached for my hand and snatched it away. “You’re so powerful…” his voice was breathless with awe. “Just like Queen Cendrilla.”
I inclined my head. “Thank you.”
We stood face to face. He was a couple of inches taller with a slender build. It was hard to tell if he was a quarter-ogre like Stafford and me, or just a good-looking human. It didn’t matter, because I only needed two things from him.
“How do we stop the locusts?” I placed a hand on his shoulder. The golden armor was warm and yielding under my fingertips, making me wonder if it was alive.
He blinked, as though coming out of a trance. “T-there are golden artifacts buried outside the capital, Mount Fornax, and Mount Bluebeard. If you destroy them, the locusts and their eggs will vanish.”
“Thank you.” The corner of my lips curled.
“Princess Alba—”
“You know I’m not from the United Kingdom of Seven, don’t you?” I placed my free hand on his other shoulder.
A confused smile crossed his face, and he tilted his head to the side. “O-of course. I haven’t yet written to the Prince Regent to reject his offer of betrothal. We could be married by—”
My smile widened into one of Father’s feral grins.
His eyes widened, cheeks reddened. “Oh, Princess—”
Gripping him into place, I yanked him forward and butted my forehead into his nose. His bones made a satisfying crunch, and he fell to the ground like a broken marionette.
Evolene squeaked.
Stafford whooped.
The other dragons gave rumbling snorts of approval. Then I headed toward Fyrian and turned to Evolene. “Are you returning with us?”
She glanced at Stafford. “I’ll ride back with him, if that’s all right with you?”
I gave her my warmest smile. Perhaps his heroic appearance on the back of a sleeping dragon had swayed her heart. “Before you leave, do you think you can make something to hold the eggs?”
“The sleeping dragons will transport the eggs in their mouths,” said Fyrian.
“Does Fogo still have the hatchling?” I stepped over King Magnar’s prone body and climbed up Fyrian’s foreleg.
“He took it to Mount Fornax while you were talking to Magnar.”
“Oh, good.”
Once I’d settled on her back, Fyrian launched herself into the skies, leaving the sleeping dragons to collect their eggs. The wind blew into my hair, and I exhaled a relieved breath. We’d found the eggs and saved Steppe from destruction via angry dragon.
I twisted around, sparing one last glance at the golden-haired idiot lying face-down in the ashes and frost, being pecked awake by his squawking orlovi bird.
END OF BOOK TWO
Chapter 1
I paced up and down outside Master Fosco’s office, clenching and unclenching my fists. The morning sun streamed in through the reception’s skylights, making pretty patterns on the polished, sandstone floor. I stomped on the patterns, transferring the light to my boots.
With the help of my friends, I’d found the stolen dragon eggs, ended the rebellion of witches, and gotten King Magnar to reveal the source of the locusts plaguing Steppe. How difficult could it be for them to decide to reinstate an expelled student?
“Keep huffing like that,” said Fyrian, “and you’ll start breathing fire.”
I gritted my teeth. “This should be an awards ceremony, not a disciplinary hearing. Why are they making me wait so long?”
Even though Fyrian was deep within the mountain’s interior, I could still feel her teeth tearing through some kind of animal carcass. “Whatever they say, don’t get angry. They’ll be watching out for any signs of defiance.”
My feet came to an abrupt stop. “Have you ever seen one of these meetings?”
“Not for cadets.” She paused for a moment to swallow. “But in the disciplinary section of the Council of Dragons, those who talked back got the harshest of punishments.”
But I wasn’t even a dragon. And people dueled all the time in Mount Fornax. It didn’t seem fair that Master Fosco blamed me for King Magnar’s use of dark fairy magic. I rubbed the center of my forehead. It still stung from where I’d given the arrogant brat a well-deserved headbutt.
Leaning against the wall, I surveyed the empty reception area. Like most of Mount Fornax, its walls, floors and ceiling were smooth sandstone. Behind me stood the doors leading to three offices, and in front lay the long, empty desk Evolene had occupied. I imagined that with recent events, such as the supposed murder of Mr. Jankin, Evolene’s subsequent arrest and probation, and the theft of all the dragon eggs, Master Fosco had been too busy to employ a new receptionist.
The door at the end of the room swung open, and Stafford’s head poked through the gap. Toffee-colored strands stuck to his flushed skin. He’d probably jogged here all the way from our dorms. “Are you still expelled?”
“They haven’t seen me yet,” I replied.
His hazel eyes widened. “Why not?”
I shrugged. For all I knew, the long wait was Master Fosco’s scheme to make me misbehave in front of the others, so he would judge me too unruly for the Academy. “You’d better go. Master Fosco told me to come alone.”
Stafford’s features fell. “What will you do if they don’t let you back?”
My shoulders drooped, and I let out a long, shuddering breath. Without the Dragon Mage Academy, I would be Princess Alba, the seventeen-year-old who had failed the Magical Militia and would no longer inherit House Bluebeard. I wouldn’t be able to look Father in the eye if I also failed to become a dragon warrior, and he’d probably lock me up or have me sent away.
I straightened and smiled with as much false bravado as I could muster. “Fyrian’s agreed to stay with me at Mount Bluebeard. There’s lots of space for us there.”
He stared, brows furrowed, teeth worrying his lower lip. It was the expression he sometimes made before bringing up my true identity. I narrowed my eyes. Just because the reception area appeared empty, it didn’t mean that we couldn’t be overheard. Stafford and I were only quarter-ogres, but any half-ogre lingering nearby could pick up incriminating words… no matter how quiet.
After glancing over his shoulder into the hallway, he crept inside, rounded the table, and cupped his large hands over my ears. “Will the Prince Regent try to marry you off to you-know-who again?”
I shook my head. After the devastation King Magnar had caused to the country with his locusts, Father would want to offer him a decapitation, not the hand of his only daughter. “Fyrian and I won’t allow it.”
Behind us, another door clicked open. My heart jumped into my throat, and we both sprang apart.
Phoenix, Master Fosco’s apprentice, stepped out of the door marked ‘APPRENTICES.’ His chin-length, burgundy hair was tied off his face, revealing human features even more handsome than Stafford’s.
He narrowed his maroon eyes into irritated slits and snapped, “Perrault! You should be at breakfast.”
Stafford hunched his shoulders. “Sorry. I just wanted to check on Albert.”
“After everything that’s happened, Bluford doesn’t need to be seen disobeying orders,” said Phoenix.
Stafford muttered another apology and scurried back toward the door leading to the hallway. On his way out, he bumped Evolene’s old desk, shoving it out of place several feet, making a gut-wrenching scrape agai
nst the sandstone.
I drew in a sharp breath and glanced at the door marked MASTER FOSCO. The low hum of conversation had stopped, and footsteps approached.
“Sorry!” Stafford stopped to put the desk back into place with a loud scrape.
My insides twisted with trepidation. I hissed, “Just go!”
He darted out of the exit and pulled it shut, just as Master Fosco’s door swung open. Up close, his resemblance to Phoenix was uncanny: both had maroon eyes and burgundy hair, except Master Fosco’s hung past his shoulders, giving him a wilder appearance. Despite this, Master Fosco was nowhere as intimidating as Father. His features were more relaxed, more human, and his build slighter.
That didn’t stop every drop of moisture in my mouth from evaporating or the membranes of my throat from sticking together under the taller male’s heated gaze. He hated Father for having married Aunt Cendrilla, and by extension, he hated me.
Warm, streaks of sunlight shone through the skylight, and sweat broke out across my scalp.
I held my breath and hoped he’d be better disposed toward me for having found the stolen dragon eggs.
Master Fosco’s eyes flickered to the door leading to the hallway, giving me enough time to send Phoenix a pleading look to stay quiet about Stafford.
“Are you ready for your reinstatement hearing, Bluford?” he asked.
“Y—” My throat caught. I gulped and forced out the words, “Yes, sir. I am.”
He stepped inside and held the door open.
On legs that shook like a newborn camelops, I walked past Master Fosco into his office. The scent of brimstone hung in the air, as though the heat of his resentment would burn me to ash. With each step, a band of trepidation wound around my chest until my breaths became rapid and shallow.
The room was the usual shrine to Aunt Cendrilla, its walls covered in official royal portraits of her and Fogo, the purple dragon. Opposite the desk hung a huge gold-framed mirror for long-distance communications. I glanced into my reflection, blinked hard to clear the dots forming before my eyes, and grimaced. A square-jawed, honey-blond-haired boy stared back, his eyes bulging.
“Cadet Bluford, welcome.” Behind the desk, at the far left, sat Master Roopal, the elderly, silver-haired History of Dragons instructor. He gripped a quill in one hand and held down a parchment with the stump of his left arm.
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