Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

“It is an exceptionally trustworthy troll.” He let go of my hand, wrapped his arm around my waist, and drew me close.

  I rested my head on his shoulder and inhaled. Niger’s scent reminded me of a storm, the anticipation in the air when lightning strikes and before thunder rolls.

  “That makes no sense,” said Fyrian.

  “Haven’t you got something better to do?” I snapped.

  She released a smoky yawn. “The trial is finished for today, and everyone is sleepy from dinner.”

  “Did you taunt Byrrus yet?”

  “Not since the afternoon. Bye!”

  I tamped down the guilt rising up my gullet at having encouraged Fyrian to be cruel to another dragon and focused on the problem at hand. Even if Master Jesper found a way to fill an avatar with atmospheric magic, it might not be able to trick the wards into accepting it in place of Evolene’s life-force.

  “We can’t let her die,” I whispered.

  “You should have faith.” He gave me a gentle squeeze around the middle. “Tomorrow, we will find a clue that will help Evolene.”

  I dipped my head. “I don’t know how you can be so optimistic at a time like this.”

  “Because you are involved.”

  I snorted. He wasn’t making any sense.

  “It is true. You have that ability to save the day, much like Her Majesty and her grandmother, Queen Hyossus the Great.”

  “We’re only related by marriage through our ogre sides,” I muttered.

  “That does not change who you are.”

  I squirmed. One of these days, I wouldn’t live up to his compliments. “You wanted to show me something?”

  He drew back, reached into his knapsack, and pulled out a gnarled piece of wood a little longer than my forearm.

  “What is it?”

  “A branch of the lightning tree. I thought it would make a good weapon.”

  With the greatest of care, I touched its surface, and something pulsed beneath my fingertips. “It feels alive.”

  “Lightning is a form of power. My brothers told me you wielded a sword that shot white sparks from its blade, and I thought of the lightning tree.” He dropped the wood into my hand.

  “Thanks.” I smiled. “What can I do with it?”

  “General Thornicroft taught us to form our own mage weapons using the connections with our dragons.” He pulled out a carving knife. “After the business with Evolene is resolved, I can show you a few things if you like.”

  I beamed. “That would be great.”

  I rested the wood on my lap and leaned against the backrest of the kyssan tree, enjoying the comfortable silence. We had the barest scrap of a plan. Master Jesper would likely work out a way to trick the wards. The troll was older than all of us, a fantastic researcher, and knew a lot about magic. But we needed a way to sneak into the Witch General’s stronghold and extricate Evolene without being detected.

  “Rumors are flying through the mountain about you and those riders. Everybody is expecting you to stage a heroic rescue. The only question is how you will do it and when.”

  My brows drew together. “Do you think the witches have heard?”

  “I have no doubt they have and will take measures to stop you from leaving Mount Fornax.”

  “Then I’ll need to be sneaky,” I replied. “Maybe escape through that dragonet tunnel we used to reach the surface that day we fought the homunculi.”

  Niger shook his head. “What if you gave them exactly what they wanted?”

  I drew back to stare into his obsidian eyes. The dragon moths above us made his auburn hair shine like burnished copper. “Huh?”

  “They are looking for a way to catch you trying to rescue Evolene. Let them.”

  “But wouldn’t that—”

  “Let them catch Bluford. He does not exist. Princess Alba will be the one to leave Mount Fornax and rescue Evolene.”

  “What do you mean? I’m him.”

  He tapped me on the tip of my nose. “Bluford is whoever wears the glamor.”

  Warmth spread across my chest. “Are you volunteering?”

  Niger shrugged. “I would prefer to be by your side, sneaking into the Magical Militia headquarters and watching your back, but you need a reliable warrior to fake being Bluford and to dodge attacking witches.”

  “He’s right,” said Fyrian. “Stafford’s too worried about Evolene to want to stay behind and pretend to be you.”

  “But that means you won’t be coming with us to the Magical Militia,” I replied.

  “It would look strange if Bluford was arrested without Fyrian.”

  “Thanks, Fyri.” My heart swelled with joy. We didn’t yet have a plan to get Evolene out of her cell, but at least we had an effective diversion to stop the witches from trapping me. I placed a hand on Niger’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you’d risk yourself to save Evolene.”

  The corner of his lip curled. “I would do anything to help you, Princess.”

  My heart pulsed a sense of giddiness through my veins. No one, apart from Mother, had ever put themselves in danger on my account. Pushing aside all fears of the damsel denial’s retribution, I threaded my fingers through his thick, auburn hair, leaned into him, and pressed my lips on his.

  He reared back, eyes wide.

  My heart deflated like a leaking bladder. All this time, Niger had admired me as a friend and nothing else. If I didn’t fix things now, he’d avoid me, and I’d lose my decoy. Words spilled from my lips. “I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—”

  “It was unexpected but not unwelcome.” He gave me a crooked smile. “But maybe the next time, you can remove the glamor first.”

  Chapter 11

  Boisterous voices approached from afar, breaking our little bubble of contentment. My head snapped up, and I swatted at a pair of dragon moths that had flown too close. With a swoosh of their glowing wings, they rushed back into the low branches of the kyssan tree. The voices were probably warriors wanting an evening ride with their dragons, but after tonight’s spectacle with the Magistratus and the Witch General, it could be a gang looking for answers.

  Without the Magical Militia, Steppe would probably have been devastated by its wars with fairies and the Snow Queen. Nobody wanted to see witches come to any harm, especially since they were members of most Noble Houses, clans, and families.

  “Let’s go,” I murmured.

  It might have been my imagination or the patchy light from the moths filtering through the olive leaves, but Niger’s features fell. Before I could examine his expression, a grin spread across his face. “We should check on Stafford, in case Master Jesper has him tied up.”

  I forced a weak chuckle. “Or he could be halfway to the capital by now.”

  Niger stood and offered his hand. A protest about not being a damsel tried to push its way out of my throat, but I held my tongue and let him help me out of the seat. I’d kissed him. Of course, he would act all gentlemanly around me. The moment I stood, he placed a large, warm hand on the small of my back.

  My eyes fluttered closed, and I relaxed into his touch. Now that we had the beginnings of a plan, Niger and I probably wouldn’t get the chance to spend much time alone.

  Somebody close by belched, making his companions snicker. I groaned. In a few moments, the warriors would be upon us asking a slew of questions, including why two mage cadets were in such a romantic spot alone together.

  “This way.” Niger’s other hand joined the first around my waist, and he lifted me four feet off the ground and into a gap in the branches.

  I squeaked and scared away a trio of perching moths. “What are you—”

  “Those riders are on our terrace, and the kyssan tree is a dead end. This is the only way out if you want to avoid them.”

  “Oh!” I grabbed one of the thick, twisting branches and, placed my boot on the first foothold I could find. “Thanks.”

  Climbing the kyssan was far easier than scaling the wall of the reception building. The memory of tha
t morning, clinging onto the edge of the roof under Stafford’s encouragement, made my heart twist for my friend. Maybe the news of our progress would cheer him up.

  Back at the laboratory, Stafford lay fast asleep on a cot against the side of the wall, while Master Jesper stood at the table, holding a small staff over another snowman squash. This one had a pair of funnels for eyes and about a dozen buttons carved onto its front.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Gathering ambient magic,” replied the troll. The top button blinked. “And with some measure of success.”

  I glanced at Niger, whose eyes bulged. He cleared his throat. “You found a way to fill the gourd?”

  “I can extract minuscule amounts of atmospheric magic from the air, but at the current rate of collection, it would take a year to fill this gourd.”

  “How can we speed things up?” I asked.

  Master Jesper sighed. “That’s the mystery alchemists have been trying to solve since they first started to steal the magic and life-forces of witches. Perhaps your research on how dragons absorb magic may help.”

  I nodded. “All right, but if we manage to fill the gourd, what next?”

  “We will need to add Evolene’s magic so that the wards will accept the avatar in her place.”

  I pumped my fist. “But first, we’ll find a way into the Magical Militia prison.”

  The troll tapped the snowman’s head with its wand and set the squash to one side. It then produced a small dish containing strands of chestnut-colored hair and placed it on the snowman’s head. “You will do no such thing. I will not risk any of you children on a rescue mission.”

  “You’re going alone?” I spluttered. “With no one to watch your back?”

  Master Jesper dipped its head and whispered an incantation that made the hairs burrow into the squash. “I have existed for centuries longer than a being like me deserves. Madam Evolene deserves another chance.”

  “Have you thought this through?” I asked.

  Shoulders stiffening, the troll raised its head. “What do you mean, cadet?”

  “How will you get to the capital?” I asked. “On the back of a glacier wolf? How will you enter the headquarters? Get past the security? Get through the barrier?”

  Niger leaned against the side of the table. “The witches would have warded against trolls.”

  “Not against me.” The troll slipped the small wand back into its cloak. “I was their prisoner for so long, their wards will accept my magic.”

  My throat thickened, and I swallowed hard. “You’re sacrificing yourself. If you pass those prison wards another time, they’ll want your magic.”

  “Of course not.” Master Jesper folded its arms.

  I stepped forward and glared into its quicksilver eyes. “Go on, then. What’s your plan?”

  The troll held my gaze for several moments, but the way its features twitched told me it was struggling for something to say. In a clipped voice, it said, “Until I have formulated my strategy, it remains confidential.”

  Pursing my lips at the obvious lie, I glanced away and met Niger’s gaze. “What do you think?”

  Niger jutted out his chin and also folded his arms. “There is no need for self-sacrifice if we all work together.”

  “He’s right,” I said. “Between us, we have ideas for rescuing Evolene but no plan. Stafford keeps getting close to Evolene but needs help not getting caught. Niger’s just volunteered to become a decoy so I can sneak out and save Evolene, and you’re planning on feeding that avatar to the wards. Why don’t we all work together when Stafford’s awake?”

  The next morning, Stafford and I stepped out of our dorm to find Muti and five other rider cadets slouching outside in the hallway. Muti’s eyes were closed, and he pulled at the golden strands at the end of his beard braids. The moment the others noticed us, his friend gave him a sharp nudge, and the group of half-ogres stood to attention.

  Muti stepped forward and straightened his flying jacket. “Bluford.”

  I stepped back. “What are you all doing here?”

  “Everybody reckons you will make your move, no matter what the Witch General says. We want to help.”

  “Tell us your plans,” added his friend.

  My heart thrummed into action. This might be the perfect opportunity to share a little misinformation. I made a deliberate show of glancing from left to right, as though I didn’t want anyone to overhear what I would say next.

  Muti’s eyes widened, and a grin stretched across his face. “Tell me.”

  In a low voice, I said, “Listen, you can’t repeat this.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I will keep your secret.”

  “Fyrian and I will fly to the capital and burn a hole through their wards with her venom.”

  “Albert,” Stafford hissed.

  I squeezed his bicep hard, hoping it would be enough to keep him quiet. “Don’t stop me.”

  The males gave grunts of approval. Muti added, “You need outriders. Strong men on dragons who will keep the witches off your back.”

  “I don’t want to get anyone hurt. The last time I got chased by witches on dragon-back, it was tough…”

  “We have no fear!” Muti thumped his chest, and his companions made the same movement.

  “You’d be decoys, and might not make it out of the wards,” I said.

  “Better a decoy to the hero than to hear about the adventure the next day.”

  I gave him a sharp nod. “Thanks. I’ll let you know when I’m close to making my move.”

  He gave me a short salute. “See you at the trial.”

  “Are classes cancelled today?”

  “They want us all in the arena. Something big is about to happen.” He pushed open a door, letting morning sunlight stream into the hallway. Then he and his classmates exited into the terrace, letting the door click shut.

  “Albert, what’s going on?” asked Stafford.

  “Let’s talk on the way to the arena.” I turned inward to the bond. “Fyri, are you there?”

  “Ummm…” Her voice quavered. “Hold on a second.”

  “Are you calling Fyrian?” asked Stafford.

  “I’m trying to.” With one outward breath, I closed my eyes and eased my consciousness deeper into our bond. Usually only the barest of mist obscured our connection, but today it was as thick as thunderclouds. My brows drew together, and I chewed the inside of my cheek. Was she in trouble? She would ask me if there was something I could do to help.

  “Everything all right?” asked Rufus’ voice.

  “Albert’s calling Fyrian,” replied Stafford.

  The mist thinned, revealing glimpses of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man.

  As soon as my eyes opened, Stafford asked, “Is she coming?”

  “She’s talking to someone.”

  “Another dragon?” he asked.

  I opened my eyes to find Stafford, Rufus, and Gobi staring at me. Rubbing the back of my neck, I said, “Actually, it was a male.”

  “One of the cadets?” asked Rufus.

  I headed through the hallway toward the exit. “No one I recognized. It was hard to see his face because she blocked our link.”

  Gobi flung the door open. “She had better not be consorting with King Magnar or one of the alchemists.”

  I stepped onto the sun-drenched terrace filled with foot-high, purple plants that wafted the scent of sage. “Fyrian wouldn’t betray us like that. Unlike you, she was actually awake while the alchemists set homunculi against us.”

  Gobi’s face twisted, and I scowled. Perhaps I’d been too harsh, but the barb stung. I suppose the incident where she had entered my name into King Magnar’s stupid tournament still rankled. It hadn’t been her fault, but I had thought our bond would transcend loyalty elixirs. Now that she seemed to be making friends with other warriors, I didn’t feel quite so secure about my connection with Fyrian.

  Stafford stepped out from behind Rufus and Gobi. “She’ll explai
n everything to you when she’s finished her conversation.”

  “Probably.” I shrugged.

  Rufus strode past, jerking his head for Gobi to follow. “We should make our way to the reception courtyard. If Fyrian needs her privacy, she can meet us later.”

  I followed after them, dragging my feet. “You’re right, I suppose.”

  Rufus activated a stair-stone, and we ascended to the next terrace up, whose walls were covered in pomegranate flowers with bright yellow stamens and thin petals the exact shade of poppies. Even though they were harmless to my fairy side, I held my breath and hurried until we reached a stretch containing umbrella lilies whose banana-colored flower heads stretched up to the sky.

  Up at the reception courtyard, Cadets and civilians stepped into winged, black carriages, which took to the skies in the direction of the Drogott Arena. Rufus, Gobi, and Stafford headed for the nearest vehicles and piled through the door.

  “Albert.” Stafford poked his head out of the vehicle. “Are you coming?”

  “Fyri?” I raised my head to the skies. There was no sign of an approaching green dragon. She had to be still talking to the man in her stall. Turning back to Stafford, I muttered, “Yes, sure.”

  This morning, Eyepatch stood outside the stadium behind a wooden stand shaded with a thick canopy of palm leaves. Laid out in front of him were rows of empty coconuts arranged in front of the stand. Behind the coconuts was the usual tureen next to four metal containers with lids.

  I stepped out of the carriage and headed towards the server. “Morning, Mr. Cobbs. What’s this?”

  He puffed out his chest, and his remaining eye twinkled. “Coconut porridge. Popular with the witches and discerning warriors.”

  “I’ll try a bowl, please.” I picked up an empty shell.

  Eyepatch lifted the lid off his tureen of porridge, releasing the most heavenly scent of rich cream and warm coconut. My mouth watered. This would probably be his best dish yet.

  “We’re getting breakfast rolls,” said Stafford. “Meet you inside.”

  I gave him an absent wave, and Eyepatch ladled out the porridge into my coconut shell. He lifted one of the containers, revealing mauveberries in syrup, caramelized bananapple slices, and strawberry halves.