Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  She shook her head, making pink strands of hair dance around her shoulders. “I was asking questions, not wasting time.”

  “What useful information could those two lieutenants possibly share?” I folded my arms across my chest. “They were desperate to get Evolene imprisoned. Neither of them would hand you the means to free her.”

  Master Jesper raised its staff and erected a silver silencing barrier around the room. Roseate’s eyes bulged, and she stumbled toward her fallen staff, but it rolled out of the way.

  The troll advanced on the quaking witch. In a soft and sinister voice, it said, “You are now trapped in a room with the people who care most for Madam Evolene. We will not tolerate your attempts to sabotage her rescue, nor will we tolerate any lies.”

  Roseate’s mouth opened and closed. She clutched her throat and pulled at a silver ring of glowing magic. “What did you do to me?”

  “Are you aware of Tacet Mendacio?”

  I folded my arms and gave a grunt of approval. It was a spell that disabled the victim’s vocal cords every time they told a lie.

  “O-of course I know it,” she replied.

  “Do you know Dolorem Mendacio?”

  “What’s that one?” asked Fyrian.

  “It inflicts pain every time she lies. Considering she only went quiet when she first tried to speak, I think Master Jesper is bringing it up as a bluff.”

  “All right, I’ll tell the truth!” She flapped her arms up and down like an orlovi bird trying to fly with its stumpy wings. “I did come to spy, but not to tell the Witch General.”

  I scowled. “Madam Maritimus, then?”

  “N-no. I just wanted to be a part of the adventure.” In a smaller voice, she added, “You lot are always doing amazing things to get attention. Nobody ever notices me around here.”

  “It’s not seeking attention if you’re helping a friend,” I snapped. “And if you want more people to remember your name, maybe focus on being a nicer person.”

  Master Jesper shook its head. “Now, now, children. This isn’t the time to squabble. Madam…”

  “See?” she spat. “Even a troll thinks I’m insignificant. My name’s Roseate. R.O.S.E.A.T.E.”

  I rolled my eyes and lowered myself back into the cot next to Niger. Roseate was offensive even to someone trying to be reasonable toward her.

  Master Jesper pursed its wrinkled lips. “If your sole purpose was to come here to eavesdrop and cast aspersions on trolls, then you have achieved your aim. You may leave with your memories erased.”

  “No!” she squeaked. “I have information.”

  “That’s doubtful,” I snapped.

  Stafford pointed a finger at Roseate. “You’re wasting our time again, just like you did at the Magical Militia. If we pay you any attention, you’ll talk us around circles until time’s up and the wards devour Evolene’s life-force.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Then tell us what you have to say or begone!” snarled Niger.

  “Eep!” She wrapped her hands around her middle.

  I gave Niger a nod, prompting him to intimidate Roseate into speaking. He stood and pulled back his shoulders.

  “W-what are you doing?” She inched back clasping her hands to her chest.

  “Talk.” He advanced on her with his fists clenched.

  Roseate’s knees knocked together. “S-stay away.”

  I shook my head. Many ogres despised male hybrids, including those born within their own families. They were deemed useless because they didn’t wield magic like their female counterparts. But the worst type of hatred came from the occasional witch. Because they were celebrated for their powers, they often forgot they were just as human as the males they were lucky enough not to have become.

  From her behavior, Roseate appeared to be the type of bigot whose hatred escalated the more human the hybrid appeared. She actively played tricks on quarter-ogres like Stafford and me and had even hit Ivan on the head when she had believed him to be like us. But half-ogres like Niger, whose physical strength and speed doubled ours, appeared to intimidate Roseate. I curled my lip. Someone as hateful as her didn’t deserve a place in our group.

  She fell to her knees, eyes watering. “I-I’ll tell you everything I know. S-someone broke into the prison years ago using an underground ship and rescued a prisoner.”

  Master Jesper shook its head. “I would have remembered such an event.”

  “It was before your time.” Roseate pressed her hands together and sent Niger a pleading look. “Three years ago, according to Lieutenant Argentina. They’ve quadrupled the wards around the cells since then. If they’re disturbed by magic or water or falling rock, all the prisoners get their magic drained.”

  My stomach dropped to the sandstone floor with a thud, and I cried out.

  Niger reeled back, and Master Jesper clutched the side of the table.

  “What?” Stafford whispered.

  “It’s true.” Roseate staggered to her feet and picked up her staff. “If you approach her cell directly using the troll’s method, she’ll die.”

  Chapter 14

  I slumped on the cot, spine curving inwards with defeat, insides scraped raw with the realization that Master Jesper’s brilliant plan and invention would get our friend killed. I glanced up at the troll for inspiration, but it stared at the floor with its head bowed. Stafford knelt on the sandstone with his hands on his thighs, staring blankly at the wall. Had I been standing, my own legs would have given way.

  Niger turned to me, his features blank, jaw slack. I’d never seen him look so defeated.

  “She’s lying,” Fyrian spat.

  “Look at the silver band of magic around her throat,” I replied. “She’s telling the truth.”

  “T-then you’ll have to think of something else.”

  “With only a day to spare?”

  Roseate had to be lying, but the silver enchantment around her throat held strong. She puffed out her chest and twisted her face into a smirk of triumph. “Luckily for you, I already have a brilliant plan.”

  I doubted that Roseate could muster up a witty retort, let alone a way to transport Evolene through the wards without being noticed, but I straightened. We had reached that point of desperation where any suggestion, no matter how unsound, was welcome.

  “Go on,” Master Jesper croaked.

  “The wards were rearranged after the prison break, so nobody can burrow through the cells from the top without killing the person they’re trying to rescue.”

  I cast my mind back to our visit. Once we had passed the fairy iron door, we walked through a hallway of opaque cells. “So, we approach from the far wall and pull her out through the front.”

  “That’s too obvious.”

  Leaning forward in the cot, I rested my fingers on my chin. “Well, they seem to be the thinnest from the hallway, because we were able to see and speak to her from there.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and rocked back. “But did you notice how the witches enchanted the floor so that it transported you back to the float when your time was up? The security in that hallway is absolute.”

  “Stop delaying and tell us your plan!” Niger barked.

  “Eek!” She stumbled back and bumped into Master Jesper, then jumped back like a scalded rat, swiping her hands down her patchwork cloak as though she’d been riddled with dirt.

  Master Jesper sighed and shook its head.

  I clenched my teeth, holding back a barrage of insults. Right now, all that mattered was this plan. It probably wouldn’t work, but it might give us a starting point.

  “The prisoners only stay in their cells when they have a visitor.” She straightened the bodice of her uniform. “They built another level under the prison just in case someone tried to burrow into the ceiling again.”

  Master Jesper turned to the projection of the magical militia building and added another level beneath the prison. “How is this one warded?”

  “The same,
but—”

  “Then they’ll die if we burrow into that level,” said Stafford.

  “He’s right,” said Fyrian.

  “Let’s keep listening,” I replied. “Even Roseate would have thought of a way around it before coming here.”

  “Have you quite finished?” she asked in a haughty little voice.

  Niger pointed his finger in her face. “Speak!”

  “All right!” Roseate clutched her chest, creating a barrier between herself and Niger. “There’s an underwater cave with a one-way opening into the lower level.”

  “Why would the Witch General allow for such a design flaw?” I asked.

  “The rock is a naturally occurring gravestone. There’s a stalagmite that protrudes into the lower level. All they could do was polish it and turn it into a pillar.”

  A gleam shone within Master Jesper’s quicksilver eyes, and the troll clapped its hands together. “Madam Roseate and I will venture out to the Cursed Sea with Pisces Pila to conduct some simulations. Cadet Perrault, you will need your energy for tomorrow’s mission. May I suggest the elixir of sweet dreams?”

  Stafford nodded and lowered himself onto the cot. “I could do with the rest.”

  I wrung my hands. It was clear that Master Jesper didn’t want us to come with them. “What should we do?”

  The troll pointed its staff at me. With a flash of light, my blond hair darkened to a shade of caramel and shortened. I glanced down at my body and straightened my shoulders. This was the kind of physique I’d hoped Madam Skinner would have provided me back in her Military Outfitters.

  Stafford’s eyes bulged. “You’re me!”

  “Indeed.” Master Jesper pointed its staff at Niger and turned him into a replica of my Albert Bluford disguise. “One click of the fingers from each of you will dispel the enchantment.”

  Niger stared down at his half-foot-shorter, willowy form and scowled.

  “Come on.” I gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder, but he didn’t stagger to the side as I might have if Stafford had hit me with his full strength.

  He snickered. “We should test out our disguises at the Warrior Queen over a goblet of dragon’s tears.”

  Master Jesper wagged his finger. “Cadet Bluford needs to report here tomorrow morning before dawn. Do not get him drunk.”

  “Of course not.” Niger wrapped his slender hand around my wrist, just how I always dragged Stafford around. “This is an experiment to see if I am convincing.”

  The Warrior Queen stood on the east side of the Healer’s Academy, past the dragonet chute, which Niger, Evolene and I had used to reach the base of the mountain. We strolled across the lawn alongside the Academy building’s high walls.

  My stomach rumbled.

  “There is usually a barbacoa cooking at the Warrior Queen,” said Niger.

  I smiled. “How do you know I’ve never been there?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I would have noticed you. Rufus often visits with that little boy. Stafford comes with him sometimes, but you are never there.”

  My insides warmed at the thought of him watching out for me. I would have reached out and held his hand, but he looked so much like the twins, it would be awkward.

  As we approached a thicket of trees, the faint buzz of bees filled the air. My feet stumbled to a halt. “What’s that?”

  “The dragonberry trees?”

  I glanced up into their thick canopy. Fist-sized fruit of varying shades of green and orange and crimson dangled from its branches. From their puckered skin and pungent aroma, they were obviously chili peppers of some sort. “The buzzing. Where’s it coming from?”

  “The hives.” Niger pointed at one of the trunks. “Look.”

  Rounded columns of honeycombs, filled with writhing bees, stretched throughout its hollow. I flinched. “Ugh.”

  “Do you not like honey?” he asked. “This is a spicy form used to produce dragon’s tears.”

  “It’s nice enough,” I said through clenched teeth. “It’s the bees I don’t like.”

  “I can carry you through the thicket, if you like,” he said in a low voice.

  Heat spread across my cheeks, and I shook my head. Carrying Stafford that day he’d fallen to the plague had been an awkward affair, but he had been unconscious, and the distress of seeing him without his skin had washed away any worries about the appropriateness of such close contact. I swallowed hard and gave him a playful elbow on the bicep. “I’ll manage somehow.”

  “Another time, then.”

  His flirtatious words fell flat, as my chest tightened to a quarter of its capacity. I pressed my lips together, slowed my breathing, and stared ahead into the path. The last thing I needed right now was to panic and have Niger treat me like a scared damsel, even though that’s what I felt like at that particular moment.

  I wouldn’t look up into the canopy. I wouldn’t listen to the buzzing, even if it made my eardrums vibrate. I wouldn’t let myself catch a glimpse of the beehives or think of bees.

  With each step, the canopy thickened. At first, we walked under a shaded spot, lit by dappled streams of sunlight, but eventually, the thick leaves, and the… objects hanging from the branches blocked out the sun.

  My pulse pounded to the beat of my trepidation, and every hair on my body stood to attention. My throat dried, and I swallowed several times to distract myself from picturing their golden hairs, stumpy legs, segmented little bodies, fluttering fairy wings, and questing antennae.

  “Then stop thinking about them!” Fyrian blew a stream of mental flames into our bond, burning the imaginary bees writhing through my mind. “You’re making my scales itch.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “Remember clearscale? Well, the skin under my scales felt like it was crawling with bees.”

  I coughed and picked up my pace. “Sorry.”

  “Are you all right?” murmured Niger.

  “Fine.” I pulled back my shoulders and raised my chin. “Fyrian was talking into our bond.”

  “We should go out flying after this,” he said.

  “What was she like to fly when you took her out to catch the weathervane?” I asked.

  “I could tell she was used to mental instruction.”

  “Well, that’s because you don’t use the signals Caiman teaches. How am I supposed to respond quickly if you rely on our connection all the time?”

  “Fyrian agrees,” I said to Niger, knowing she would hear me as well. “Maybe I should fly with the red dragons and let someone else fly with her in class. That way, I get to use the signals, and she gets to learn them.”

  He gave me a grunt of approval.

  We passed under the last of the trees and into a clearing covered by a carpet of red, bell-shaped flowers lit scarlet by the late afternoon sun. In the middle was a small, wood-framed cottage, rendered in white, that backed into an orchard of orange trees in full blossom. The tight band of panic eased off my lungs. The breeze cooled my sweat-dampened skin, and I exhaled a long breath of relief.

  “Are you ready to see if this disguise works?” asked Niger.

  I nodded. “And to get a nice, cool glass of juice.”

  He pulled open the wooden door, releasing billows of barbacoa and spice-scented smoke. “Does Stafford drink that?”

  “Not really.”

  Over Niger’s slender shoulders was an oaken tavern room magically expanded to the size of the mess hall. Iron chandeliers fitted with dragon-powered gas lights provided dim illumination, as did the glowing embers of the grill on one end of the room. Rows of long tables, filled with drinking warriors, stretched from left to right, broken by walkways that allowed servers to carry huge trays of containing bottles and goblets of a pale amber liquid.

  I stepped inside, blinking hard to adjust my eyes to the smoke and bumped shoulders with a quarter or eighth-ogre rolling a barrel into my path. “Sorry!”

  The smaller male chuckled and pulled at the collar of a green leather uniform t
hat indicated he was a groom. “Shouldn’t be on barrel duty. The mead’s gone straight to my head!”

  Niger pulled me by the arm to the bar. “Want to try dragon’s tears?”

  I shrugged. “Is it as strong as Master Jesper implied?”

  He grinned. “Stronger.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t—”

  “Cadet Bluford!” bellowed a voice from the other side of the room. It belonged to Master Fosco.

  I groaned. Sitting next to him was Father, and beside him sat Mother in her fairy form, sipping a drink served in a hollowed-out pineapple. Uncle Orel perched on one of her shoulders, and Uncle Rouen perched on the other. I smiled. They were great friends to give her moral support to deal with Father.

  Niger gasped. “The woman…”

  “The fairy is General Sialia of the Fairy Fighting Force. She’s here to liaise with us about the spriggan situation.”

  “I see…” The tone of his voice indicated otherwise. “Are she and the Prince Regent—”

  “They’re not. Let’s see what they want.”

  He gestured for me to go first. “After you.”

  I gave him a half-smile. “It’s you they want. I’m just the best friend.”

  Being Stafford was relaxing. Nobody stared at him as we passed, because everyone’s gazes flicked from the disguised Niger to Mother and Father. They were probably expecting a massive scene where I accused my step-father of parading his concubine in public. Anyone who had read the paper would know Mother and Father had officially severed ties, but I supposed gossip, no matter how far-fetched, was a great way to pass the time.

  Gobi stepped into our path. “Why are you here?”

  Niger glared up into his hard, blue eyes. “Who are you to question me, boy?”

  I bit my lip. Most days, I ignored Gobi or gave him the brush off. Niger looked like he wanted to start a fight.

  Gobi threw his shoulders back, puffed out his chest and rocked forward on his heels to tower over Niger. “The Prince Regent is my brother, not yours.”

  “Then why are you sitting with the drogott team instead of at the table with the honored guests?”