An agonized roar sounded from the stall next to Fyrian’s. One of the dragons lay convulsing on its side. Two warriors stood on her head, pulling back her lips, while a healer poured medicine through the dragon’s teeth.
My heart jumped into my throat. Surely Fyrian couldn’t be this bad! I ran across to her stall, breathing hard and fast and shallow. Because the sun shone on the other side of the mountain, very little light spilled into her enclosure, making it appear dark and empty. My throat dried.
With a trembling breath, I stepped inside. “Fyri?”
Smoke curled around my torso, snaking over my shoulders, past my jaw, and above my head. Crimson eyes opened in the darkness, reflecting against the dim light.
“Fyri, is that you?”
She rumbled back.
I reached through our bond but found an empty space that reminded me of a moonless and starless sky.
Fyrian inched forward, her claws scraping against the sandstone. I’d expected her to be pink or yellow, or pale green beneath the scales, but the leathery skin covering her muzzle reminded me of midnight moss. A green so deep it appeared black. It stretched over the contours of her face, gathering into folds around the eyelids. Barely visible bumps ran around her head where there should have been a horned mane.
Relief whooshed out of my lungs in a long breath, and I placed my hand on her snout. A deep ache settled in my bones, presumably from reconnecting with Fyrian. “I thought you would look like some of the others!”
“Can you hear me, now?” panic raised her voice to an ear-piercing shrill.
I snatched my hand away and staggered back. “That was loud!”
Silence stretched out between us, and I stared at the palm of my hand. Touching her must have reinstated our mental link. Stepping forward, I reached out and let my fingertips graze her snout again. “Can you hear this?”
“Yes! What’s going on? Yesterday, Dr. Duclair said you might have the plague. Then she put runes all over my stall and shut off our link.”
“They did the same to my hospital room.”
“Are you cured?”
“I never had clearscale. It was our connection that caused your symptoms to affect me. General Thornicroft says my mind was like hollow cheese.”
“Did he show you how to do a dragon quest?”
“How do you know about—” I stopped myself. Fyrian used to come here with Aunt Cendrilla while she taught Magecraft. Of course, she knew. “I did a bit, but things got scary, and I broke out of it.”
“That’s not good!”
I dipped my head. “Yes, but I’ll just have to battle those memories over time in my dreams.”
“No. You have to get strong and save Magnar!”
“What?” I snatched my hand away and stared into Fyrian’s half-lidded eyes. Maybe I’d misheard. She would never want King Magnar rescued. I placed my fingertips back on her snout.
“Those mages are taking him to General Thornicroft, aren’t they?”
“Um...” It was no longer a surprise that she knew all the personalities around Mount Fornax, or that she knew more about my studies than me, but why was she so concerned with King Magnar? “The General wants to ask him about the plague. If he can create swarms of locusts with a few artifacts, then he could easily create a disease.”
“He’ll be tortured. You don’t know what General Thornicroft is like!”
I raised my shoulders. “That might be the only way to get the truth. Dueling him into making a confession doesn’t work, and that last interrogation was a joke.”
“Don’t let him get hurt,” she said with a sob.
“Why not?”
“We’re worried about him.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The dragons.”
“Why, after he worked with that spriggan to steal the eggs?”
Fyrian let out a feeble growl, like I was the one acting unreasonable.
My brow furrowed, and my fingers twitched to pull away from her snout. Perhaps the plague erased memories as well as the appearance of scales. Only a few days ago, the black dragons were sick with worry for the missing eggs, and the sleeping dragons wanted to burn the country down to sift the eggs from the ashes.
After a frustrating moment, Fyrian answered. “How would you feel if your mother was being dragged away by thugs?”
I bristled. “Mother never released plagues of locusts to steal a whole generation of dragons.”
“That wasn’t his fault!”
It took all my effort not to shake my head. Clearly, the plague had affected her and all the other dragons. Arguing with Fyrian would only get her more upset. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
“Save Magnar.”
“I’ll speak to General Thornicroft.”
She paused, and I stopped breathing. Had the dragon quest fixed my hollow mind enough to lie to Fyrian? Her eyelids drew together in a slow blink, then she said. “Thank you.”
A bitter taste lingered in the back of my throat. I bit down on my bottom lip and exhaled. Lying to Fyrian had been so easy. Even though I’d put her mind at ease, I had to ask, “What about the spriggans and the Forgotten King?”
“We don’t care about them,” she replied.
I raised my brows but remained silent.
“Just save Magnar…” she said with a sob, “and his sisters.”
“I’d better go and get started.”
Fyrian let out a high-pitched purr of gratitude. “Alba… Please, watch over him in case this plague takes us all. You’re our last hope!”
A lump formed in my throat. That sounded like a dying wish. I closed my eyes to hold back my tears. “I will.”
Bowing my head, I ran my fingers over her snout. Smooth glossy scales covered the underskin, feeling like normal, except for being transparent. Why would anyone want to hurt dragons with such a condition that caused so much pain? If it could make the flying gecko extinct in under a week, how long would the dragons have before they died?
One of the healers, a tall, ebony-skinned witch, entered the stall with a flask of medicine.
“I-I have to go,” I said.
“Of course.” Her voice rose an octave, as though our conversation had removed a layer of stress. “You’re going to rescue Magnar.”
“Y-yes.” I broke off our contact and stepped aside. That had to be the worst lie I’d ever told.
Fyrian opened her mouth, allowing the healer to pour the medicine on her tongue. The green liquid soaked into her flesh, and Fyrian’s eyelids drooped closed. Her throat made a rumble of relief, then a stream of pale smoke curled out of her nostrils.
I hugged my rack of vials and sniffed. The plague had twisted the dragons’ minds, making them devoted to King Magnar. At least the strange altercation in Master Fosco’s office now made sense. The masters had also been affected by the plague and had tried to protect King Magnar from General Thornicroft and Madam Maritimus’ aggressive questioning.
As the healer stepped out of the stall, I asked. “How’s Fyrian doing?”
“Better than most.” She ran a hand through her short, fluffy hair. “Dr. Duclair saw to her last night and performed a few powerful pain-dampening enchantments.”
“Right… Did you know the dragons are all worried about King Magnar?”
Her eyes widened, and her gaze darted from me to Fyrian, who was probably listening to our conversation.
Nothing about this so-called plague made any sense. Master Jesper seemed the type who would mutate a lizard disease to affect dragons, but it wouldn’t make the dragons love King Magnar or anyone else. I could see King Magnar wanting to control the dragons’ minds, but why would he want to incapacitate them with clearscale?
I stepped out of the stalls. It was time to find Evolene and ask her to research mind-control enchantments.
Chapter 11
The quickest route to the mess hall, where I’d likely find Evolene, was left. But for Fyrian’s peace of mind, I turned right out of her stall
to double back once I was out of sight. I had to maintain the illusion of going to rescue King Magnar but saving him was the last thing I wanted to do.
A heavy cloud settled over my chest. What if she and all the dragons remained devoted to him for the rest of their lives? And what if General Thornicroft couldn’t find the truth from King Magnar or from Master Jesper? After one last glance over my shoulder to check that Fyrian still remained in her stall, I descended the stairs to the next level and rushed across the grassy terrace to the mess hall.
The scent of chili peppers and smoked meat hung in the air, making my eyes water. Blinking, I dipped my head, hoping it would provide some protection from the pungent heat. I headed toward the far right of the hall, where my classmates and the drogott team relaxed around two tables pushed together. At one end of the table, a seat apart from Stafford sat Evolene.
“Cadet?” asked a reedy voice on my left.
Eyepatch stood behind a tureen of what I could only describe as congealed blood. He scooped up a ladleful and let it splatter down. “Bloodwurst porridge?”
I jerked my gaze to his face and gulped. “Breakfast roll?”
“All gone. If you’re worried about this being rabbit blood, it isn’t.”
I wrinkled my nose. Its main ingredient was boar, which didn’t make it any better. “Do you have any of the bloodless porridge, then?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Only in the witches’ dining room.”
“I’ll have some of that, please.”
“They are also serving golden apple compote. Should I get you some of that, too?” His tone of voice implied I was less of a man for not wanting to eat oats cooked in boars’ blood.
“Yes, please,” I replied.
His face twisted like he’d swallowed a lemon, but he managed to incline his head and stomp toward the double doors at the end of the hall.
I headed toward the others. “Thanks for guarding my room last night. Albens has taken Master Jesper to General Thornicroft for questioning.” I lowered myself into the seat next to Evolene. “I need a favor.”
Gobi gasped through his teeth and nudged Rufus, who stared from me to Stafford with a guarded expression. They probably thought Stafford and I were rivals for Evolene’s affection. I glanced at Stafford, who dipped a piece of bread in his mead.
“W-what do you want?” she asked.
“I just spoke to Fyrian, and—”
“Is she all right?” asked Stafford.
“Did it hurt?” asked Evolene.
“She’s still in pain, and a bit of it leaked to me, but the magic suppressant helped. But when I spoke to her, all she cared about was saving King Magnar.”
Rufus leaned forward, eyes glinting. “From what?”
“From General Thornicroft’s torturing.”
His face tightened. “At last. It made me sick to see him wandering about Mount Fornax unpunished.”
Everyone, including cadets from the other table, grumbled their agreement. Stafford was the first to speak. “Why does Fyrian care about him after what he did?”
“I think the plague is affecting all the dragons’ minds. She told me they’re all worried about him.”
Rufus curled his lip. “It is dark, fairy magic.”
“It’s looking that way,” I replied.
“Actually,” said Evolene. “A magical artifact can hurt most species, but Dragons are magically resistant. “
“What part of them contains the resilience?” I asked.
Her brows drew together. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”
“Maybe it’s the scales,” I said. “Or the color of the scales. Or whatever magic in them that makes them not transparent. Maybe this clearscale has taken away their magical resistance, and now they’re susceptible to artifacts and mind-control enchantments like everybody else.”
Evolene clapped her hand over her mouth. “At the border, King Magnar wanted to erase our memories! Mind control could be one of his sisters’ specialties.”
I shrugged. “Anything is possible with him. Maybe the interrogation will uncover something helpful, but I’d like you to research dragons’ magical resistance.”
Rufus stroked his beard. “My brother mentioned experiments the high fairies carried out on dragons. I can help with the research.”
Eyepatch returned carrying a tray holding a small tureen of pristine, white porridge, topped with a huge dollop of golden apple compote. He’d also brought two empty bowls. “Your breakfast, Cadet. I brought enough for you and the young witch.”
Evolene chewed her lip. “I’m not really used to sweet things.”
I gave her a tight smile to disguise the ache of sympathy in my chest. Very few witches disliked fruit. But then, she’d probably not had the chance to eat nice things, growing up a captive and then forced into a life of crime with her awful father.
Eyepatch glowered at the mug of water and buttered roll on her plate but didn’t comment.
“Could I have some of that porridge?” Stafford pushed aside his buttered roll.
The server pursed his lips and spooned a generous ladleful into my bowl and double the amount into Stafford’s. I suppressed a smile. Eyepatch seemed to treat feeding cadets as a personal crusade.
As Eyepatch left, Niger downed the last of his tankard and stood. “I will check with Albens on King Magnar’s interrogation.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“I’ll look into the magic.” Evolene turned to Rufus. “See you in the library.” She slipped the bread roll into her pocket, stood, and walked toward the double doors without saying goodbye to Stafford.
Gobi scraped the last of his bloodwurst porridge from his bowl and licked his spoon. Then he and Rufus left in the same direction as Evolene.
Stafford dipped his chin and sighed. “She doesn't like me.”
“What makes you say that?” I stirred my porridge. “She’s probably worried about the spriggan and the Forgotten King.”
His shoulders rose to his ears. “I suppose…”
“Or still upset about her father,” I added. “It takes more than a fortnight to get over something like that. Even if Ivan was a violent bully.”
Stafford stared into his bowl. “Poor Evolene.”
We ate our apple porridge in silence, and I helped myself to the rest of Evolene’s water. What had happened between them last night? I’d fallen asleep and didn't get the chance to observe Stafford and Evolene together, but she seemed to like him enough when he rode the sleeping dragon. But from my friend’s slumped shoulders, it looked like his pursuit of Evolene wasn't going as well as he had hoped.
“I need some advice on women,” he said.
“Keep your voice down.” I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one was listening. Two tables away, a quarter-ogre dragon tamer wearing bronze leather entertained the surrounding tables with a tale about a wild dragon. “It's safe to talk. What do you want to know?”
“How can I get Evolene to like me?”
“What makes you think she doesn't?”
“Sometimes she goes quiet. I used to think she liked Phoenix, but they’re just friends.”
“He thought she was grieving for her father.”
Stafford ate the last spoonful of apple porridge. “If I rescue her from some kind of danger, do you think she’d like me more?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re talking about the damsel denial?”
He nodded, eyes bright.
“That’s old magic.” I shoveled a spoonful of apple porridge into my mouth, giving myself time to work out how to reply. “I’m not even sure it works on commoners. Or witches.”
“But it’s romantic, isn’t it? I read a scroll where a dung farmer rescued a Princess, and the King had to give him her hand in marriage or she would die.”
“The tale of the dungman who became King?”
He nodded. “She’ll fall for me if I save her, right?”
I shook my head. “What are the chances of her being in danger and
you being there to help her? For the damsel clause to work, she needs to be in a peril not of your own causing.”
“I’ll have to find another way to her heart, then.” He rubbed his chin.
“Or you can continue as you are, being her friend. Damsel denial magic doesn’t affect her feelings. It only forces the victim to marry you or die.”
He exhaled a long breath, and his shoulders fell. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. Don’t tell her I asked, all right?”
A small head butted into my calf. I glanced down to find the violet cat staring up at me.
“Hello!” I said. “What happened to your dragonsbane collar?”
“Who are you talking to?” Stafford leaned across the table.
“It’s the dragonet Queen Cendrilla turned into a cat.”
The cat spread its wings and leaped onto the table. Then it stared at a platter containing strips of dried meat and purred. Had anyone been feeding it since the dragonets had fallen ill? I picked up a finger-sized piece of meat and held it out to the cat.
“No animals in the mess hall!” snapped Eyepatch from the other side of the room.
“Dragonets come here all the time,” I shouted back.
“They're different.” He dropped his ladle into the bloodwurst porridge with a plop. “That is a flying cat.”
“Who had a magical accident that wasn’t its fault.”
Eyepatch’s features twisted, deepening the groves on his face. “I don’t care what it was or might have been. That furry creature isn’t allowed in a place of dining!”
Tucking my rack of vials under my arm, I grabbed a few chunks of meat and stood. “I’ll feed the cat outside, then. Are you coming, Stafford?”
He eyed the small tureen and licked his lips. “I’ll join you in a minute. You’ll be at the library, right?”
I nodded. “See you later.”
Eyepatch stared into my half-full bowl. “But what about your apple porridge?”
It would have been great to tell him I'd lost my appetite, but after the trouble he'd taken to fetch something of my liking, I didn't have the heart. “It was lovely. Thank you.”
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