Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  Master Fosco pulled out his quill and scribbled down a note. “I don’t know what you did, but you’re not as innocent as you claim. We may never hear the truth of how you extracted Evolene, but you will not bring Mount Fornax into disrepute.”

  He dipped the nib of his quill into an ink pot, signed a note with a flourish, and slid the piece of parchment across the table. “Take it.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A written warning. The next time I catch you doing anything inappropriate, you will be expelled and released into the tender care of your father.”

  My mouth dropped open. “But Mother—”

  “Is in no position to look after an unruly child,” said Father. “She is busy on a mission for the Queen of the Fairies.”

  I sent Mother a helpless stare, but she quirked her lips into an apologetic smile. My heart dipped. A spy whose platoon could transform into bluebirds probably didn’t need an ogre-hybrid and her dragon attracting attention. I leaned across the table, grabbed the parchment and rolled it into a scroll. “I’ll read it later.”

  “Get out of my sight,” said Master Fosco.

  Without a word, I rose to my feet and strode across the dragon master’s office, my steps light. My heart danced a happy canter in my chest, and I reined back the urge to grin. We had gotten away with it!

  After stepping through the exit, I crossed the reception area, where a human-looking male in a homespun tunic sat at Evolene’s former desk, writing in a huge, leather-bound ledger. He was probably one of the civilians who lived at Mount Fornax and a one-eighth ogre… Like King Magnar, whose mother was a witch.

  Shaking off the irrelevant thought, I continued through the door and into the corridor that the homunculi had exploded, not stopping until I reached the mess hall.

  The usual dull cacophony of talking, eating, and the clank of utensils greeted me as I stepped through the mess hall doors. My nostrils filled with the fishy scent of scalded salamander. Without meaning to, I glanced at the huge vat of snake-like amphibians swimming within a thin soup. My stomach churned. They reminded me too much of the sea serpent I had fought, and I didn’t feel like watching them being eaten alive.

  As I turned, the olive-colored, leathery wings of a dragonet whacked me across the face. “Ouch!”

  “Are you all right?” said Fyrian.

  I clutched my stinging cheek. “That hurt. What’s the dragonet’s problem? Should it be flying about so soon after the plague?”

  “Hold on, I’ll ask.”

  Turning, I kept my gaze on the floundering dragonet. It flew lopsided, one of its fragile wings flapping slower than the other. Warriors tried to grab at the little creature, but it spiraled out of reach.

  Eventually, the dragonet fell onto Master Torreo’s chaperon.

  “What?” roared the green-haired master dragon.

  “Oh no,” cried Fyrian.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  “Someone tried to steal it.”

  “Who?”

  “Asproceros the poacher!”

  Chapter 3

  Master Torreo left the mess hall, clutching the olive-colored dragonet to his chest. I asked Fyrian to find out more, but she told me the dragonet had fallen unconscious, having exhausted itself trying to get to help. Since I was still full from Eyepatch’s delicious breakfast roll, and neither Niger nor my classmates were in the mess hall, I set off to walk the grounds.

  Outside, the sun shone down from its zenith, and a cool breeze blew through the terraces, bringing with it the faintest scent of menthol. It reminded me of dragonets frolicking within tall strands of dragon mint.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and blew out a breath. “Something bad’s about to happen, isn’t it?”

  “If you ask me, something already has. Didn’t you hear me say Asproceros?”

  Dry grass crunched underfoot, confirming my suspicions that the weathervane had malfunctioned again. “The poacher?”

  “The ogre who killed Roseate’s betrothed,” Fyrian replied.

  I shook my head. The story sounded familiar, but I’d probably placed it in the back of my mind. It made sense that Roseate was such a peculiar character. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone so dear. “He can’t be in Mount Fornax. The newspaper said he was spotted trying to board a boat.”

  “Trying to board,” said Fyrian. “That doesn’t mean he was successful.”

  I stepped on a stair-stone and activated an upward flight. It had been a day since I’d seen Fyrian. Without her quick-thinking yesterday, while I’d been captured by King Magnar’s sisters, I would either be dead or in the hands of the spriggans. And she’d helped me at great cost. Poor Fyrian had endured an aerial battle against a dozen witches and been confined to her stall, with our connection blocked by runes. Not only that, but she had given me enough of her power to survive the frozen waters of the Glacier Islands.

  Fyrian snorted. “You’re the one who fought a sea serpent and broke through an underwater ship. I should be checking on you.”

  I reached the top of the stairs and turned left, passing the seaweed-colored dragon. “We don’t often have separate adventures.”

  “True,” she replied.

  The seaweed dragon stuck his head out of his stall and gave me a snort of greeting. I patted his snout and said out loud, “Hello, Alga.”

  His massive head bobbed up and down. I took that to mean he was pleased I had remembered his name.

  “Does he have a bondmate?” I asked.

  “He’s a civilian,” replied Fyrian. “But I think he’s waiting for the right person.”

  “What about Stafford?” I gave Alga a wave and continued along the grassy terrace.

  “I think he and Fulmen are getting close.”

  “The silver dragon who rode with us to find the stolen eggs?”

  “That’s the one.” Fyrian lay on her front with her forelegs outstretched, like a cat straightening their spine. The sun shone on the green scales on her paws, making them gleam like emeralds. “You know what? None of these other dragons will have the kind of bond we do. It happened instantly with us.”

  With a chuckle, I said, “True.” I peered into the depths of the stall, where she stared back at me through huge, crimson eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Heating my claws.”

  “Why?” I cocked my head to the side.

  “There’s an itch on my neck.” She jerked her head to the left. “It feels like water’s lodged under a loose scale. I wanted to pull it out and scratch.”

  “Let me try.” I clambered up her front paw, up her leg and over her shoulder until I reached her neck. “Where is it?”

  “It’s going to be difficult to point with you standing there.” She jerked her head. “Slide your sword over it, and I’ll direct you.”

  Frowning, I reached for my sword belt. “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  “Use the Parched Sword. It’s been dipped in my venom so many times, it will have dulled its blade.”

  “All right.” I pulled out the parched sword and examined its rounded tip. She was right. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to slice and cut.

  “Of course, silly. Nothing’s sharper than the sear of a hot flame.”

  I tried not to think about the sword cutting through flesh and tapped at the side of Fyrian’s neck. The scales there were smaller and smoother than the thick, ridged armor on her back, and they reminded me somewhat of the sea serpent.

  Fyrian huffed. “I’m nothing like that worm.”

  “You didn’t see it.” I pressed the blunt tip over the scales covering her neck.

  “Higher,” she said. “Serpents don’t impress me.”

  “This one made Phoenix nervous.” Steadying my feet on her shoulder, I slid the tip of the sword several inches up.

  “That’s because it was in the sea. He hates most things related to water,” replied Fyrian. “More to the right.”

  I lowered the sword. “How did yo
u know?”

  “I have nightmares of him being drowned by spriggans as a dragonet. Right, I said.”

  “Sorry.” I moved the tip of the sword to the spot I thought she wanted me to scratch. “Like that?”

  “There should be a loose scale. Wedge the sword underneath it.”

  I drew back. “What?”

  “Don’t worry about hurting me. It’s almost loose, and I was going to scratch it off myself. Your sword will do a better job.”

  “A-all right.” Because of the time of day and the position of the sun directly over the mountain, the light in her stall wasn’t the best. I had to squint at the perfect array of scales on her neck to find one that protruded a little more than the others. Smaller than the size of my palm, it was more translucent than its neighbors, as though it had loosened itself from her under-skin and was ready to shed. Was this like having a wobbly tooth?

  “Don’t draw it out,” she snapped.

  “Right.” Furrowing my brow, I eased the tip of the blade under the loose scale and gave it a tilt. Water spilled from underneath it, making me jolt. That had to be irritating. When the last drops drizzled out, I tilted the sword further, grabbed the tip of the scale with my free hand, and pulled. “Nearly there.”

  “That’s so much better!” she said with a smoky gasp.

  I placed the Parched Sword back on my belt and slid the scale out from its nestling-place. It reminded me of a giant fish scale, except hers was a deep green, thicker, and with edges that could cut with enough pressure. “It’s beautiful. Do you lose scales often?”

  “This will be my first as a full dragon,” she said with breathy awe.

  “Here. You should see it with your own eyes.” I climbed down her arm, landed onto the floor, and took a few steps out of the stall into the light.

  Fyrian leaned forward, her head poking out into the terrace up to her crown of green horns. “It’s more iridescent than my dragonet scales.”

  “How do you know that word?” I gave her snout a little pat. “I hardly ever use it myself.”

  “Auntie Rilla uses it all the time to describe pearls. Your little cousin likes to leave them under her pillow.” She gave her head a cat-like shake, loosening a few more droplets of water. “Thank you.”

  “What should I do with your scale?”

  “Wear it around your neck. It will be a sign of your devotion to me.”

  I smiled. “Really? Thanks!” Fyrian gave me a toothy grin in return, which made me huff out a laugh. “That’s very undragonlike.”

  She pulled her head back into her stall and rested it on her forelegs. “Go on. You’ll be late for Magecraft.”

  Excitement bubbled up in my stomach like Liquid Invigoration freshly released from its vial. It had been over a week since I had seen General Thornicroft. He probably had an interesting weapon to share or a devastating way to slay our enemies with the flames we produced from our hands. After giving her a brief hug, I bade her goodbye and hurried down to the lower terraces to his classroom.

  Stafford, Rufus, and Gobi sat on the stone bench at the back of the empty room with Phoenix standing to one side with his arms folded.

  He pushed himself off the wall. “There you are, Cadet Bluford. Magecraft class is canceled while General Thornicroft recovers from his heart condition.”

  “Thornicroft is in love with Duclair,” said Fyrian. “I heard he was pretending to be ill so she can take care of him a bit longer.”

  “Don’t make fun.” I frowned at the image of the tiny doctor fussing around an eight-foot-tall male. “You didn’t see the cross bolt go through his heart. That was horrible.”

  “Witches can heal that sort of thing in days. Trust me. He’s malingering.”

  I shook my head. She was just saying that because she disliked General Thornicroft and his silver dragon.

  “Caneo is a miserable waste of scales!” she snapped.

  “Are we going to the library?” asked Gobi.

  Phoenix rubbed the back of his head. “Our new librarian has closed it today for renovation.”

  “Should we go to the mess hall?” I asked.

  “I thought you might like to join the grooms today,” replied Phoenix. “They’ve been making bone oil and now they’ll use it to polish the hide of dragons. It’s something every rider and mage needs to learn when they’ve bonded.”

  I smiled. That sounded like an exciting class. “Should Fyrian come?”

  He smiled back. “Only if she wants.”

  “Maybe later,” she said. “Someone just told me Byrrus is flying out to meet his bondmate, the King of Dung.”

  My classmates and I streamed out of the room after Phoenix. Rufus and Gobi strode ahead along the grassy terraces, while Stafford kept to the rear, dragging his feet. His slack expression was too downcast for someone who had rescued the woman he was courting. My brows drew together, and my stomach muscles tightened. Something terrible must have happened in the time we had been apart.

  I grabbed his bicep. “What’s wrong?”

  Stafford frowned and shook his head, then nodded in the direction of Phoenix.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. Had they argued about something? Both males had gentle, easy-going personalities. I couldn’t imagine either of them falling out.

  “It’s Evolene,” said Fyrian. “Stafford’s jealous.”

  “But Phoenix was the only person who could give her the power to fill the avatar. Stafford can hardly begrudge him for being a dragon.”

  “You saw Fosco’s room, didn’t you? What if Phoenix ends up falling in love with Evolene?”

  I continued along the terrace, staring down at the giant chamomile flowers. Their cone-shaped centers shone as bright as fresh yolks, and their ivory petals reflected the afternoon sun. Pulling my gaze away from the ground, I scrambled around for something to distract my best friend.

  “What about the dragonet who nearly drowned itself in the salamander soup?” asked Fyrian.

  “Excellent idea!” I gave Stafford a nudge on the arm. “Have you heard?”

  “What?” replied everyone.

  “A dragonet flew into the mess hall, saying it had been attacked by Asproceros.”

  Rufus harrumphed. “That murderer would never show his face here again after what he did. Paniscus was my brother’s best friend.”

  “Niger’s?” I asked.

  He gave me a hard stare I couldn’t interpret. “No, Livens’.”

  “Oh.”

  Phoenix opened a door, letting out a gust of cool air, and we stepped into a hallway that contained a mural of dragons in battle against ogres wielding giant halberds and witches shooting at them in groups of six. Gas lamps, strategically placed on the wall to resemble dragon fire, provided dim illumination. I drew in a sharp breath. This had to be a scene from the Great Dragon Revolution.

  “The dragonets still haven’t fully recovered from the plague.” Phoenix shook his head. “I expect a few of them are still having nightmares.”

  I stopped at an image of Aunt Cendrilla flying through the air wielding her flaming magestaff. Were the nightmares how Fyrian was able to dream of Phoenix being drowned by the spriggan?

  “It’s rare for dragons to wander into the dreams of other dragons,” she replied. “Those elixirs jumbled everything up.”

  In the dragon quest, General Thornicroft had shown me where dragons kept their fear of spriggans. “The witches are probably furious right now about Evolene’s escape. I’ll bet they’re giving Mr. Bacon and the librarian an extra hard punishment.”

  We continued along the hallway until we reached a door-sized opening in the wall, where a stone platform rose from below and disappeared up past where the opening ended. Next to it stood another opening of the same size, except the platforms moved downward. I squinted and rested my fingertips on my chin. The platformed appeared to move up and down a pole that pierced their middles.

  “What’s that thing?” I asked.

  “Everyone calls it the tea stand
,” replied Phoenix. “It’s a way for multiple people to move up and down the mountain together. It removes the awkwardness of poles or chutes.”

  I nodded and folded my arms across my chest. A contraption like that reminded me of afternoon tea served on tiered plates. When my cousin Chrysus was a baby, he magicked away the stand, and the tiers collapsed, squashing the scones beneath.

  “H-how does it work?” asked Gobi.

  “The pole holds magic that moves the platforms up or down the mountain while keeping them certain distances apart.”

  “What happens if you touch the pole?” I asked.

  His lips thinned. “Don’t touch it.”

  “I’ll go first.” Stafford stepped on a downward platform, folded his arms, and stared at his feet. The old Stafford would have smiled and waved, but I supposed he was too preoccupied with thoughts of Evolene to bother about something as trivial as a new way of traveling down the mountain.

  “Me next,” said Rufus, who strolled onto his platform. He stared at us and gave a grunt of approval. “It is safe.”

  Gobi wrung his hands. “Would you like to go first, Bluford?”

  I blinked. This was the most polite he’d ever been to me. Had he finally changed his mind about this one-sided rivalry? A memory rolled into place from the evening Niger and I spent in the Warrior Queen. Niger, disguised as me, gave Gobi an ogre handshake so domineering, it brought tears to the boy’s eyes. I gave him a tight smile and said, “See you later.”

  When a platform reached floor level, I stepped on. It rumbled a little underfoot, but the ride down to the bottom level was smoother and much more pleasant than the pole or the dragonet chute. We passed several hallways, an empty classroom, and even someone’s sleeping chamber. I stepped forward, trying to get a better look, then noticed the inch-thick layer of dust over the furniture. The room probably hadn’t been used since the building of Mount Fornax.

  Moments later, I reached the ground level. Bare sandstone made up the floor instead of the usual meadowland. This was probably the dry side of the mountain, beneath where Captain Caiman taught dragon riding. Stafford and Rufus stood side-by-side, not exchanging any words, and I stepped off the platform, which disappeared down to another level.