He nodded. “My apologies. I ought to have presented it to you during the vows.”
Smoothing my expression to mild curiosity, I asked, “What exactly did you do to the dragons?”
He stared at me for a long moment, brows drawing together as though I was the one spouting out the ridiculous suggestions. Then he ran a hand through his short, blond hair. For someone who had been half dead a few days ago, he looked annoyingly healthy. “Princess Alba, are you all right?”
“Fyri,” I asked. “Are you listening?” Right now, I needed her opinion.
She didn’t reply.
I blew out a frustrated breath through my nostrils. “You returned to the scene of your crime.” He opened his mouth, presumably to tell me that he hadn’t stolen the eggs, but I raised a quelling hand. “Just tell me why you returned.”
“To form an alliance,” he replied.
“With Steppe?”
“With the Princess of Dragons and all her lieges.”
I blinked. That made no sense. He already knew I was a girl in disguise, not a great lord with underlings. “But I’m not—”
“Enough,” he snapped. “The matter is closed. Your father offered me your hand with an extremely generous dowry, which I will accept. We will wed on the morrow.”
“He’ll refuse,” I said through clenched teeth.
King Magnar stepped toward me. “When a head of state makes such an offer to another, he cannot withdraw it without serious repercussions.”
My breath caught. “You’d threaten war.” When he didn’t reply, I said, “You’re the most despicable person I’ve ever met. Your locusts have damaged our agriculture, and the witches your sisters enchanted could have gotten themselves killed attacking a palace of ogres.”
“That was—”
“I disguised myself and came to Mount Fornax to escape Father’s plans to send me to the Savannah Empire to be your bride.”
“You must have changed your mind, otherwise you wouldn’t have revealed your true face at the border.”
My teeth ground together, and an angry breath escaped my nostrils. “It was to stop you from waging war on the United Kingdom of Seven!”
King Magnar stood just a couple of inches taller than me with a stronger frame, nearly as muscular as Stafford’s. Without his enchanted armor, I could beat him in a fight.
Raising my chin, I said, “Let’s settle this matter over a duel.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Fight me. Winner decides who gets my hand.”
His lips pressed into an angry line, and his nostrils flared. “Matters of such magnitude are not to be decided over violence!”
“Fine words coming from the most notorious warlord in the Known World.”
“Princess Alba.” His words were clipped. “You have no say in this matter. Tomorrow morning, I will escort you to Master Roopal’s office, where he will perform a wedding ceremony with or without your consent.”
I balled my fists. “Try, and you’ll get a taste of my flaming fists.”
A silence stretched out, filled by the roar and splash of the waterfall. I breathed hard, inhaling cool, humid air, tinged with the scent of moss and damp earth. The last time I’d visited the waterfall, dragons and dragonets frolicked about, but now, something strange had taken hold of them, and it was probably the fault of the man standing in front of me.
That talk of a forced wedding had to be a bluff. Master Roopal wouldn’t bind a cadet to a lifetime of undeserved misery. Perhaps he expected me to offer him something of value, so he could call off the threat of marriage.
King Magnar’s lips thinned with the kind of disapproval I’d seen on people used to dealing with unruly children. “You are seventeen, not seven. Act your age.”
I ground my teeth. “Who do you think you are? Some kind of Ki—”
A memory rolled to the forefront of my mind. King Magnar needed me and the sleeping dragons to regain his Kingdom!
He raised his brows. “Yes?”
“You’re not the head of any state, are you?” I spat. “The spriggan cast you out of the Savannah Empire. You have nowhere else to go.”
Angry, red blotches appeared on his cheeks. He stepped forward, reaching for my hand.
Snatching my arm away, I swept my leg under his foot, making him fall onto his behind. Before I could stop myself from saying the hurtful words, I spat, “Father made that offer to King Magnar the conqueror, not Magnar the usurped.”
Then, I turned on my heel and ran back toward the mess hall.
Tripping King Magnar must have gotten through to him because he didn’t shout or follow. Neither did I slow my steps. Breathing hard, I continued through the terraces, letting my surroundings form a green blur. How dare he even suggest that Father’s letter was still valid after everything he had done to Steppe? After trying to kill me during that duel, even when we’d agreed on first blood!
“What’s wrong?” Fyrian slurred.
“Nothing I want to worry you about. Are you still tired?”
“Yes. I don’t think the rabbit rex agreed with me.”
“Why?” I stopped in the patch of dragon mint and peered into an empty stall. Whoever had created it had divided the space into multiple perches, each to fit a dragonet. They’d probably all returned to the interior of the mountain to sleep.
“It’s my stomach,” Fyrian replied.
“Should I get Dr. Duclair?” I glanced around, looking for the nearest stair stone. The branches of the trees bordering the side of the Healer’s Academy building hung overhead, casting a dark shadow.
“It doesn’t hurt or anything.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Oh, the pressure’s stopped!” She sounded more alert. “It must have been gas.”
I furrowed my brow and continued along the terraces, passing one covered in purple wildflowers. “Does that happen to dragons?”
“Sometimes.” She let out a yawn through our bond. “I’ll sleep for the rest of the day. Maybe I’ll feel more like myself tomorrow morning.”
“Oh.” I glanced around, looking for signs of King Magnar. He still hadn’t followed, but I stamped on the nearest stair stone and called a downward flight.
Returning to the mess hall wasn’t an option. I wasn’t in the mood to generate a pack of lies to explain what King Magnar had meant when he talked about us having a relationship. Nor did I feel like bumping into him again to endure even more of his pathetic threats.
Further down the staircases lay wide terraces housing twisty olive trees with small, silvery green leaves. This was the domain of the yellow dragons. Unlike the greens, they preferred to nest together in larger groups.
On the terrace below, thin-trunked avocado trees grew against the wall, their branches stretching across the ceiling of a giant room, dangling fruit over a group of yellow dragons. Their scales ranged from the palest white to the darkest orange. I counted twelve dragons, each snoring loud enough to shake the avocados hanging off their stalks. I shook my head. Not a single one of them twitched at my presence.
“Bluford,” said a familiar voice from behind.
Rufus’ brother, Niger, approached from the other side of the terrace, flanked by two other mage cadets, both half-ogres. Unlike his younger brother, Niger’s auburn hair and beard were long and untamed, giving him a roguish look.
He bared his teeth, his obsidian eyes flashing. “We just passed King Magnar. Why is his head not on a spike?”
My shoulders drooped. “Somehow, he must have convinced them he was harmless.”
The other males snarled. I would have joined them if the threat of King Magnar exposing my true identity wasn’t hanging over my head like a guillotine.
“Do you think he’s behind what’s going on with the dragons?” asked Niger.
I raised a shoulder. “It’s either him or Master Jesper.”
“Someone needs to put that Magnar in shackles,” he snarled to the nods of his companions.
After the trio of older mage cadets calmed themselves, Niger asked, “We were planning on going out to practice today, but our dragons are sleepy. Is Fyrian the same?”
“Yes.” I hooked my thumb at the chamber of slumbering, yellow dragons. “She’s in the same condition as them, but she mentioned having eaten the largomorphus rex.”
Niger stroked his beard. “I think King Magnar is behind it again. Master Jesper is too clever to poison the dragons and stick around to get torn apart by the warriors.”
I grunted my agreement. King Magnar was arrogant enough to think no one would ever punish him for his misdeeds. The urge to mention that he’d been usurped nagged for me to speak, but I ignored it. Right now, his title was the only thing standing behind him and being challenged to a duel by one of the much stronger half-ogres like Niger. Or even by a fully-qualified warrior.
I nodded. “Let’s hope he didn’t use an artifact like he did with the locusts.”
Niger scowled. “This time, King Magnar will not have his witches for protection.”
“Hmmm….” I rubbed my chin.
“What?” asked Niger.
Despite claiming to have lost his throne and to need an alliance with the dragons, something about King Magnar’s presence didn’t add up. If the spriggan had cursed him, why would it then allow him to return to Mount Fornax to gather strong allies? “This might be like the old fable about the hollow horse.”
He furrowed his brows. “The one brought into a stronghold containing assassins.”
“That’s the one,” I replied. “I keep thinking he was sent here by a spriggan with a curse to ruin us all.”
Niger glanced at his companions, who all grimaced. If my speculations were true, then we were all in more danger than we could imagine.
Chapter 6
I spent the rest of the morning wandering around the terraces, snacking on fruit from trees to distract me from the situation with King Magnar. Fyrian remained silent, adding to my sour mood. Now was the time to investigate Master Jesper and its largomorphus rex, not to mope around avoiding my friends. Staring out into the horizon, I squinted in the direction of the black dragons’ territory. With Fyrian unable to give me a ride, I’d ask if Evolene could take me via the float to visit the largomorphus rex.
When the sun reached its zenith, and the shadows shortened, I stepped into the interior of the mountain and made my way toward the flying safety class.
As I walked through the cool hallways, I considered what Niger had said about Master Jesper. The troll certainly seemed intelligent enough to cover its tracks, but if it hadn’t been for Fyrian explaining the other dragons’ fixation with the largomorphus rex, it might have taken longer for everyone else to realize they’d been staying up all night to stalk the creatures.
I pushed open the classroom door and poked my head through. “Sir?”
Master Klauw slouched in his seat, staring down at a parchment. He tapped the feather end of his quill on his parted lips, looking like a twelve-year-old human instead of the usual fourteen.
“What?” he asked.
“Is it all right if I come in a bit early?” I asked.
Without raising his head, he waved me in and dipped his quill in a bottle of ink. Then he spattered the ink across the parchment and doodled.
I stepped inside and took a front seat next to one of his morbid, inappropriately detailed illustrations of dragons in freak weather conditions. It depicted a rider riding a rapier red under the crest of a giant tidal wave.
Turning away, I rubbed the back of my neck. Were these real situations or imagined?
On the board behind Master Klauw hung a drawing of a rider with dark blond hair standing on the back of a green dragon and flying above a plague of locusts.
My brows rose. “Sir?”
“Hmmm?” He flicked red ink over his parchment.
“Is that Fyrian and me?”
He snorted and continued doodling, dipping his head and hiding his face under his long, ginger hair. I pursed my lips, exhaling a frustrated breath through my nostrils. Perhaps I had overestimated Master Klauw’s true age. He certainly acted as young as he looked.
I pulled out my writing supplies and waited in silence. Several minutes later, the doors opened, and half a dozen dragon rider cadets with red piping on their uniforms walked in. They all gave me nods of acknowledgment.
“Bluford.” Their leader, a green-haired half-ogre, settled in the back row with his classmates. “Will you duel King Magnar again?”
“Not likely. The last time I tried to force the truth out of him, I got expelled.”
The males in the back row snickered, and I smiled. At least I’d become notorious for winning duels instead of not having any magic, like I had in the Magical Militia Academy.
Next to arrive were the dragon tamer cadets, a combination of males and witches. They sat behind me in the middle row.
“Told you he’d be here,” said a voice from the door. It was Stafford, who walked in with Gobi and Rufus. Although Gobi didn’t huff or pull a face, his stony expression told me he still hadn’t warmed to my presence.
Chatter filled the room, mostly about the lethargic state of the dragons.
“Settle down.” Master Klauw stood.
Everyone stopped speaking.
His viridian eyes scanned the room, as though hunting out those who weren’t paying attention. “Recent events have caused me to add another condition to the flying safety curriculum. Flying in abysmal visibility.”
A witch from the Dragon Tamer Academy raised her hand. Before being called on to speak, she asked, “What’s the difference between abysmal visibility and flying at night or in the fog?”
“I was getting to that,” he snapped.
Turning around, I gave the red-faced witch what I hoped was a sympathetic smile.
Master Klauw paced the room, still holding onto his dripping quill. “Both instances, including others such as rain, hail, or an eclipse, affect the quality of what you and your dragon will see during your ride.”
I held my quill poised over the parchment. So far, he hadn’t said anything I didn’t already know.
“Abysmal visibility.” His voice rose an octave. “This is where a sentient party or parties, such as a thick swarm of locusts, affect what you can see. Why do they pose a bigger threat than acts of nature?” He spun on his heel, pointing the feather end of his quill at me. “Bluford!”
My stomach flipped. That picture of the blond rider and green dragon had been Fyrian and me. After clearing my throat, I said, “Because a dragon can see in the dark when the rider can’t, or your saddle can compensate for things like the wind or rain?”
“All good points, but what can you tell me about locusts?”
“Unless you’re a witch, you can’t do much about them getting into your or your dragon’s eyes?”
I kept my features blank. Most people in the room had ridden a dragon through the locusts. Stafford had even accompanied me to the capital. Why didn’t Master Klauw target his questions at everyone else?
He wiggled his quill. “But a dragon can breathe fire.”
“Not over all the locusts,” I said. “They’re everywhere. And it’s not a good idea for a dragon to blow flames in all directions, because fire can get in the rider’s eyes.”
Master Klauw took off his jacket, revealing a thin, sleeveless undershirt which did nothing to hide a surprisingly wiry physique. One of the riders in the back of the room snickered. A witch in the seat behind coughed, and I dropped my gaze to the table.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Stafford.
I shook my head. Stafford could talk in class, but I’d bet all the gold in my trunk that Master Klauw would reprimand me for doing the same.
The instructor staggered to his chair, picked up a piece of parchment, and wiped his brow. Red and black ink smeared over his forehead. Cringing, I glanced down at my table, hoping he wouldn’t do anything strange like ta
ke off his breeches.
Then he stood and swayed on his feet. Sweat poured down his face, falling onto the sandstone floor like raindrops. Master Klauw groaned.
“What’s wrong, sir?” I asked.
Master Klauw staggered to the side of the room. His shoulder slammed against the wall, tearing a picture of a rapier red being blinded by a solar flare.
“Sir?” asked Rufus.
Two of the dragon rider cadets at the back stood. They were a foot taller than the master and had four times his bulk. “Should we escort you to the Healer’s Academy?”
“Bleurgh!” Master Klauw stumbled forward.
One of the rider cadets grabbed his arm to steady him.
With a ferocious roar, Master Klauw flung the cadet across the room. He hit the wall with an almighty thud and slid down, groaning.
My stomach plummeted, along with all the blood from my face. First, he attacked General Thornicroft, and now a cadet! What in the Known World was happening, and where did he get that monstrous strength?
“Somebody open the door, but do not touch him!” shouted Rufus, his face pale.
“W-what’s wrong?” I asked.
Rufus raised both hands. “Everybody, stay back!”
The second rider flung the door open, and Master Klauw staggered out, breathing hard.
I turned to Rufus. “We should follow him in case he falls off the side of the mountain.”
He gave me a sharp nod. “But keep your distance.”
The small instructor sprinted down the hallway and darted out of the nearest door. Stafford, Rufus and I followed at a slow jog. The rest of the class trailed behind us. I swallowed hard. Someone that small should not be so strong. Even though he was probably a quarter ogre like me, or even an eighth, Master Klauw looked completely human. He should never have been able to best a quarter-giant or half-ogre with brute strength.
One of the riders ran past us and reached for the door. He hissed and snatched his hand away, face contorted with pain. A scorch mark burned his palm. “How?”
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