I surveyed the rest of Eyepatch’s fare. Next to the tureen of porridge were platters laden with slices of hollow cheese, cured meat, and a single, pickled blobfish. The flesh-colored creature stared sightlessly through eyes covered in a gelatinous film. Its proboscis drooped over a down-turned mouth which dribbled a liquid I didn’t care to identify.
My feet stilled, my lips pressed together, and my last vestiges of morning hunger disappeared under a cascade of nausea. Stafford continued to Eyepatch’s table, oblivious to the blobfish.
The server’s single eye gleamed, and a smile spread across his face. “Good morning, cadet. Would you like honey or jam with your porridge?”
Stafford beamed. “Breakfast roll, please!”
Face falling, Eyepatch turned to me. “And for you?”
“Erm... I’ll have something later.”
The server scowled and snatched a bread roll the size of a side plate.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Fyrian.
“I wish I knew. He always gets annoyed when I don’t eat what he picks out for me.”
Eyepatch sliced the bread open and stuffed it with slices of cheese and cured meat. By the time he finished creating the breakfast roll, it was as thick as it was wide. After handing it to a grateful Stafford, he turned back to me again. “Are you sure I cannot tempt you, young sir?”
“Oh,” said Fyrian. “He thinks you’re a Prince of the United Kingdom of Seven.”
“I-I’m sure.” Grabbing Stafford’s arm, I pulled him through the mess hall and out into the terrace. A cool wind blew locks of magically darkened hair into my eyes, and I tucked them behind my ear. We’d probably missed the beginning of King Magnar’s interrogation and lost out on information vital to uncovering the reason for his return.
“Hurry up and stop moaning,” said Fyrian.
“Why don’t you stop listening into my every thought?” I hurried across the grassy terrace and stamped on a stair stone. Steps leading to the surface of the mountain materialized.
“What’s that?” Stafford took the stairs two at a time, somehow managing to coordinate his sprint with chomping down his breakfast.
“Nothing.” I hurried after him. “Just talking to Fyrian about being late for King Magnar’s interrogation.”
Either he had a hide as thick as a dragon’s or he’d missed the reprimand in my words, because he glanced over his shoulder, eyes smiling. “We should climb up on the roof and crouch by the sky lights. That way, no one can catch us eavesdropping.”
“Good idea!” I reached the top of the stairs and followed him around the back of the sandstone buildings that made up the courtyard.
“See,” said Fyrian. “I was right about bringing him along.”
Stafford stopped at a sandstone bench. “We can reach the roof from here.” He jumped up on the seat, placed a foot on the top of the backrest, and stretched one hand out to the edge of the building’s flat roof. The other hand held his half-eaten breakfast roll out of the way. Then he pulled himself up, raising his upper body above the roof.
Chewing my bottom lip, I said, “I’ve never—”
Stafford’s legs swung over the rest of the roof, then he stood on its edge and took a bite of his roll. “Come on!”
“Auntie Rilla can climb walls without her flying cloak,” said Fyrian.
It was all the encouragement I needed. As a quarter-ogre, I was stronger than human males, but I’d never gotten the chance to climb walls.
“All right!” I clapped my hands together and hopped onto the seat, the top of the bench’s backrest, then jumped up, hooking my hands over the edge of the roof. “Umm…”
“You can do it!” Stafford knelt in front of me, cheeks full, eyes shining with hope.
I groaned, the hard, scratchy sandstone digging into the soft skin of my palms. Why couldn’t my arms launch me over the roof like Stafford?
“Do you need any help?” he asked.
“No,” I said through gritted teeth, even though every instinct wanted to say yes.
“Let him pick you up,” snapped Fyrian. “You’re wasting time.”
“I won’t give in!” I shouted into our bond.
Tightening my stomach muscles, I turned my hips to the side and pedaled my feet up the wall.
“What are you doing?” shouted Fyrian.
I swung my right leg up, hooking my foot on the edge of the roof, and used the momentum to pull myself up. At the top, I slumped down, pressing both palms on the sandstone. “I did it!”
Stafford chuckled. “Come on.”
We ran across the rooftops, avoiding six-foot wide skylights until we found the one leading to Master Fosco’s office. The usual masters sat behind the long desk: Roopal, Klauw, Solum, and Fosco.
King Magnar sat on a chair, bound at the wrists, ankles, and stomach by thick, leather straps. He still wore the brown cadet’s uniform, engraved on the chest with the Savannah Sun. Four security witches, including Madam Maritimus, pointed their staffs at him.
“He doesn’t look so bad,” whispered Stafford.
“That’s because they’ve fixed his injuries,” I whispered back. “Be quiet, so we can hear what they’re saying.”
I pressed my ear onto the skylight and sighed. “They’ve muffled the sound.”
Stafford reached into his knapsack and pulled out a block of gravestone. “Try this.”
“Thanks.” I placed it at the side of the barrier, and sounds wafted through.
“Where did you get those artifacts?” said Madam Maritimus, her voice cracking like a horsewhip.
“I already told you,” replied King Magnar.
“Then tell us again!” she snapped.
“T-the spriggan made them.”
“How many of the creatures are you in league with?”
King Magnar shook his head. “I only saw one.”
“How many?” She prodded him in the side with the crystal tip of her staff.
“I-I don’t know!”
“Liar!” she roared.
I bit down on my lip and shared a wide-eyed glance with Stafford. Neither of us had heard Madam Maritimus speak so harshly. Not even that time when she’d caught Roseate with dragonsbane seeds in the Fornax Flying Float.
“Please, Madam, calm yourself,” said Master Solum. “King Magnar is answering your questions.”
“Why is he being kind?” I muttered under my breath.
“He’s the nicest of all the masters,” answered Fyrian. “Haven’t you noticed?”
Master Solum leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Your Majesty, spriggans are a threat dragonkind cannot abide. If you can tell us everything you know, perhaps we can help you with your problem. Let’s start with who cursed you?”
“The spriggan,” answered King Magnar.
“Was it the same creature who supplied you with the artifacts?”
He paused for several moments. “I think so.”
Master Solum looked at Master Roopal. “It is difficult to tell the creatures apart.”
The other masters nodded.
“This is going nowhere!” snapped Madam Maritimus. “I want to know about the threat he and his spriggans pose to Steppe. Veritas Dolor!”
White light flashed, and King Magnar groaned. I gasped, clapping my hands over my mouth to muffle the sound. The masters shot to their feet, all shouting rebukes at Madam Maritimus.
“What’s going on?” Stafford and Fyrian asked at the same time.
My stomach clenched. “It’s the Truth is Pain curse. One of the witches in the Magical Militia Academy got her power drained for using it on a rival. It’s supposed to put you under so much pain, you can’t muster the energy to lie.”
“That’s extreme,” said Fyrian.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. King Magnar probably never showed such mercy to all the people he killed while conquering the countries that comprised the Savannah Empire. His screams rattled my eardrums and tightened my throat so I could barely breathe. He’d
also been serious about killing me after I’d won our duel.
Madam Maritimus managed to calm the masters, and they soon sat back behind the desk. “This won’t take long if we stick to the most pertinent questions.”
“Why did you propose to Queen Cendrilla?” asked Master Fosco.
I rolled my eyes and turned to Stafford, who frowned. How typical of Master Fosco to refer back to his obsession.
“She’s the only one I thought could stop the spriggan.”
“From doing what?” asked Master Roopal.
“It keeps making harsher and harsher demands.”
My head tilted to the side, and I cast my mind to what I’d seen through Fyrian’s eyes that time Evolene and I had hidden in her mouth. “I thought the spriggan was dead.”
“That amount of dragon fire would have killed anyone,” replied Fyrian. “And I smelled burned flesh.”
“What does it want?” asked Master Roopal.
“P-please. Release this curse, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Master Roopal raised his head. “Release it.”
“Not until he answers the question,” said Madam Maritimus.
“There’s a fairy key,” he said through pained breaths. “It’s broken into four pieces and spread out across the continent. I have to find them and reform the key to release the spriggan’s master.”
Curling my lip, I shook my head, holding back the urge to spit. “I can’t believe he would free the Forgotten King in exchange for power.”
“I can,” said Stafford. “You were too busy fighting to see the look on his face after he put on that enchanted helmet. He’s power-hungry.”
“There has to be more to this story,” said Fyrian. “No one would deliberately doom the Known World.”
I sighed. She was right. But I could picture King Magnar making a deal with the spriggan to free the Forgotten King in exchange for rulership over an entire continent.
By the time my attention focus back to the interrogation, King Magnar added, “A-and they said that dragon fire was the only thing that could burn through it.”
“Which is why you stole the eggs?” asked Master Roopal.
“I didn’t,” he said through labored breaths. “It was—”
“The spriggan.” He nodded. “However, you set up the locusts as distractions, and your two eldest sisters infiltrated the palace to perform the last stages of the heist.”
The door burst open, and Doctor Duclair flew in, flanked by General Thornicroft and another witch wearing white. “Forgive my interruption, but one of the black dragons has developed clearscale.”
“Impossible!” Master Klauw shot to his feet, clenching his small fists. “That condition only affects small reptiles.”
The room fell silent, and everyone turned to King Magnar.
He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about c-clearscale!”
Master Solum stood and walked across the room. He stopped in front of the doctor and asked, “Which dragon is affected?”
“Pruna Splendor.”
Fyrian gasped. “We know her! She’s the black dragon who said hello to us before Jesper’s lesson.”
“The dragon who stole the largomorphus rex.” My voice was flat.
“Albert,” whispered Stafford. “What are you saying?”
I was about to answer when Madam Duclair spoke. “I’ve examined all the symptoms: transparent scales, muscle weakness, fatigue, and intense pain. It can be nothing but clearscale.”
“A mutated version?” Master Roopal’s voice shook.
Dr. Duclair inclined her head. “I believe so.”
“D-deadly?” asked Master Klauw.
The doctor paused. “In smaller reptiles, the condition is fatal, contagious and incurable. It wiped out the flying gecko in less than a week. It is likely that poor Pruna will also succumb.”
My heart throbbed, pumping sorry through my arteries. Fyrian’s grief made my spirits plummet. All concerns about spriggans washed away, replaced by the overwhelming worry about clearscale. If it could wipe out an entire species of small reptile, what could it do to dragons?
“What if the largomorphus rex caused the clearscale?” I asked.
“I ate one, and I’m fine,” she murmured. “It’s probably the work of a spriggan’s artifact.”
My insides roiled. I hoped Fyrian was right, because if those giant rabbits were spreading disease, every dragon who had eaten one would be in trouble.
“You worry too much.”
I sighed. Maybe I wanted to believe an alchemist had caused the clearscale. King Magnar or one of his allies most probably did something again. Another silence passed, punctuated by King Magnar’s pained groans.
“Where is Pruna Splendor now?” asked Master Solum.
“Under quarantine in the northern territory.”
Master Fosco nodded. “Keep watch out for other instances of infection.”
“Permission to assign teams of healers and security personnel to patrol each habitat,” asked Madam Maritimus.
“Granted,” said Master Fosco. “You three go with the doctor.”
The witches holding their staffs at King Magnar turned and followed Dr. Duclair out of the office.
“How convenient,” drawled Madam Maritimus.
“Indeed.” General Thornicroft stepped closer to the others.
I pressed my lips together, glaring at the top of King Magnar’s blond head. Once again, disaster had struck upon his arrival to the mountain.
Chapter 4
Stafford and I both continued lying on our bellies, elbows resting against the flat, sandstone roof of the reception building, peering in through the massive skylight. Below us Madam Maritimus lifted King Magnar off the floor with her magic.
“W-what are you—”
General Thornicroft grabbed him by the throat.
King Magnar’s head lolled back. We locked gazes for a second, and his turquoise eyes rounded. I darted back from the skylight, dragging Stafford out of sight. The rattling of my racing heart made my bones vibrate. If he mentioned that I was here, Master Fosco would expel me for snooping.
“What are you doing?” Stafford whispered.
“He saw us!”
“But we’re getting to the good bit.” He placed the last piece of the breakfast roll into his mouth.
“We’ll just have to listen!” I snapped.
Below us, King Magnar’s spluttered denial wafted through the hole we’d created in the skylight.
“General Thornicroft,” boomed Master Fosco. “Let go of King Magnar at once!”
“I would have thought he would be the first to throttle him after he tried to marry Aunt Cendrilla. And what about his role in the stolen eggs and hatchling?” I muttered.
A dull thud sounded from below, followed by choking and coughing and King Magnar’s exclamation of, “I-I haven’t done anything!”
The shouting continued with everyone talking over each other. Madam Maritimus and General Thornicroft fired off a round of questions relating to King Magnar’s goals, the masters tried to stop the interrogating pair from hurting their captive, and King Magnar protested his innocence between grunts of pain.
Stafford leaned against my side, out of sight of the skylight. “Do you think he’s buried an artifact somewhere like he did last time?”
“He was half dead when he arrived,” I replied. “Either whoever cursed him planted something, or he’s innocent, and the largomorphus rex carried the disease.”
“How about neither?” said Fyrian.
“What do you suggest, Fyri?”
“I… I don’t know.”
My brows drew together. She always had a strong opinion about suspicious people. “You’re not being swayed because you think the largomorphus rex are tasty?”
She didn’t reply, and my attention drifted back to the activities below. All four Masters stood, blocking King Magnar from further attacks from Madam Maritimus and General Thornicroft. I swallowed hard. King Ma
gnar quaked in his seat, held in place by the leather restraints.
“Out of my way,” snarled General Thornicroft.
“They’re going to fight.” Stafford shook his head. “I thought they’d do everything they could to protect the dragons.”
I pursed my lips. “General Thornicroft and Madam Maritimus seem like the only people who care about the cause of the disease. The others are only concerned about not hurting a King in their territory.”
“I hope the poor King of Savannah doesn’t get hurt,” said Fyrian.
“What’s wrong with you?” I snapped.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
In my moment of inattention, I missed what happened next. General Thornicroft flew across the room as if struck by a heavy force.
My breath caught. “Who did that?”
“Master Klauw.” Stafford sounded like he wasn’t sure.
I narrowed my eyes at the small male standing guard over King Magnar. “Something strange is happening, and I don’t know what.”
“Master Klauw’s always talking about how he doesn’t want anyone unworthy riding the dragons,” said Stafford. “There’s no way he would want to stop General Thornicroft from getting answers.”
“You’re right. I’ll contact Father and the Witch General. After the mess his sisters made of the capital, they’d be interested in interrogating King Magnar.”
Stafford stood. “Let’s find a messenger dragonet.”
I placed the gravestone in my knapsack and pulled myself to my feet.
“My... What interesting power you have,” said a cultured voice.
I froze. No one spoke like that but the troll who had brought the largomorphus rex. What was it doing here, and why hadn’t it returned to Tundra already? Its shadow stretched across the roof, blocking out the warmth of the sun.
“Are you by chance related to the Snow Queen?” it asked.
“No.” I turned around and scowled.
Master Jesper furrowed its brow. Up close, it reminded me of a blobfish covered in elephant hide. The troll tapped its wrinkled chin with a thick finger. “You have the Snow Queen’s exact coloring. Underneath the glamor, I mean.”
A boulder of shock hit me in the insides, causing me to flinch. Clenching my teeth, I snarled, “You’re wrong.”
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