Page 57 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
A soft laugh escapes her lips, light and musical. “It won’t make sense until I explain,” she teases, shaking her head. She sets down her brush, her fingers stained with vibrant colors, and turns to me.
Her arms wrap around my waist, her head resting on my chest as we both gaze at the painting. The delicate hum of bees visiting the nearby blossoms fills the silence. “I’m a dragon … You’re a nightmare… Predator and prey…” Her voice is soft, tinged with something unspoken. She squeezes me gently before pulling back to meet my eyes.
“I know you’re used to being around Abraxis, so some of the normal fear of a larger predator is maybe dulled,” she says, her golden gaze steady. Her small hands frame my face, her touch warm and grounding. “But a young dragoness, especially a newly shifted one, is volatile at best. You never feared me. You stood by me, no matter what. Most importantly, you made me feel heard.”
Her words sink in, each one a soothing balm to my restless soul. She rises on her tiptoes, her lips brushing mine in a gentle kiss.
“There’s always been something about you, Mina, that made me feel safe,” I whisper against her lips, my voice thick with emotion. My fingers thread through her hair, the silky strands slipping between them like water. Her golden eyes—so human, yet so fierce—hold me captive, and I’m reminded of just how extraordinary she truly is.
We walk hand in hand toward Shadowcarve for the Art of War class Balor is covering for Callan. I notice the chill in the air is sharper than usual—it prickles against my skin. The path beneath our feet is slick from recent rain and the scent of damp leaves. Shadows shift against the towering walls of the academy, cast by torches mounted in wrought-iron sconces, their flames sputtering and popping in the breeze. Despite the chill, my palm feels warm against Mina’s, her silence weighing heavier than the cold.
Mina is unusually quiet. I hear her breathing, slow and measured, as though she’s forcing herself to keep calm. Just as we round the last bend and the stone-and-wood facade of Shadowcarve looms into view, I stop and pivot, stepping in front of her. My boots scrape against the gravel, and I can almost feel the tension vibrating off her in waves.
Gently, I cup her face, cradling her cheek in my palm. Her skin is cool, yet there’s a flicker of heat beneath, a sign of the power she struggles to keep at bay. I search her golden eyes for answers, hoping to find something that will ease this knot of worry in my chest. “Are you okay?” I ask softly, my voice echoing in the quiet stretch of corridor.
Her gaze drops to the leather carrier resting just under her breasts. She grazes her fingertips over it, the soft rasp of her nails against thesurface a testament to her unease. “Yes and no,” she says, voice tinged with a mix of resignation and resolve. Her breath catches, and I catch the faintest whiff of her anxiety—a thread of something sharp and electric in the air.
She turns her face in the direction where Abraxis and Callan must be, her hair swishing softly across her shoulders. “Yes, because I still have you and Vaughn here … and, of course, the eggs.” Her golden eyes flick back up at me; despite everything, they remain human, reflecting torchlight like molten metal. “No, for two reasons. The main one is because I don’t know if this is the skirmish before I have to fight for my life.”
I let her words settle, the dull roar of blood in my ears intensifying. The distant clang of weapons from another training yard drifts on the breeze, punctuating the gravity of her concerns. “Should I have Ziggy start walking you to all of your classes?” My voice is tight, worry pulsing just beneath each syllable. “He’s already in the core classes with you, just in case.”
I press my lips to her forehead. She’s so tense that even the simplest gesture of comfort doesn’t seem to ease her; still, I linger a moment longer, inhaling the soft citrus scent of her shampoo mingled with her raw fear. I wish I could absorb it all, wish I could snuff out her anxiety like I would a candle flame.
“It happens in a last-period class during weapons training when I’m sparring,” she murmurs. “I’m armed, but it’s a question of how my father got on campus without anyone seeing him.” There’s a slight tilt to her head, as if she’s listening for something just out of range. Her eyes flick back to the imposing structure of Shadowcarve, its windows dark as eyes in a skull. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispers.
Then she tightens her grip on my hand and leads me toward the entrance. The heavy wooden doors groan as she pulls them open, and a swirl of cool air follows us inside. My heart pounds with each step, the ancient floorboards creaking beneath our feet. I can feel the unspoken question lingering between us. How can we keep her safe from the threat lying in wait?
Still, I follow her into the dim corridors, the smell of old stone and fresh torch smoke lingering in the air. I vow silently that no matter what happens, I will stand between Mina and any danger that dares step foot in these halls.
Balor stands at the front of the dimly lit classroom, the overhead lights flickering in a steady, rhythmic pulse. There’s a faint stench of singed plastic in the air—remnants, perhaps, from a previous class experiment gone awry. In his hands, he holds two battered metal buckets that clank against each other each time he shifts his weight.
One by one, students shuffle in, exchanging indistinct murmurs. Balor holds out a bucket for each to draw from. The quiet scrape of tokens at the bottom resonates through the silence, heightening the tension. When Mina steps up, he rattles the bucket to stir its contents before offering it to her. She dips her hand in without hesitation and retrieves a single token. A hint of a satisfied smile touches her lips, and she moves past me to her seat. Something about her air of calm confidence makes my heart pound faster.
“Mock war games start today,” Balor announces, his voice echoing against the cold cement walls. A heavy hush settles over us, and I swearI can taste the tension on my tongue, sharp and metallic. “Third years will be pitted against the fourth years. Since we don’t have enough third years, the top students from the second and first years are stepping in. That should even out the numbers.” He nods toward Mina, and I can’t help the surge of pride that floods through me. Everyone knows she’s brilliant, even if she’s only a second year. Being the only surviving member of her original class has earned her a mythic sort of reputation.
At the back of the room, I notice the simulators: towering metal consoles lined up in neat rows, each marked with a small wooden post bearing a unique symbol. A subdued hum emanates from within, punctuating the tense atmosphere like a heartbeat. The tokens Balor handed out clearly correspond to these simulators—battle stations for our little war game.
“Match your token to the simulator and take your places,” Balor continues, his tone dripping with an almost sadistic glee. “Unlike the last round, you’re not being given any preloaded data on species. If you didn’t study over the break, too bad. You’ll lose.” He bares his teeth in a grin that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Mina strides across the creaky floor to her assigned simulator. Her fingers tap an impatient staccato on the console’s edge. A few steps away, Jax—a firedrake with a perpetual sneer—settles in at the simulator across from her. Even from here, I can feel the heat of his presence, something that never fails to set me on edge. Mina, though, appears unimpressed, ignoring him as if he’s no more than an afterthought.
Balor moves around the room with a stack of scenario cards in hand. He slides one into each console, pausing briefly at Mina’s. I catch a glimpse of him pulling a different card from his jacket. Its edges lookdarkened, as though scorched—and swapping it in. My gut twists with a sudden pulse of apprehension.
The next moment, I hear a faint clack as Mina’s fingertips drum against her keyboard. She watches the data scroll across the monitor, her eyes reflecting the cool glow of the screen. A flicker of new terrain loads, crisp lines taking shape in vibrant colors. That’s when her lips curve into a small, dangerous smile. Her fingers move in a blur over the keys, each strike echoing in the stillness. A sharp beep indicates she’s ready, and a green light flashes above her station. One after another, the other simulators light up, the final one belonging to Jax, who looks like he’s already regretting challenging Mina.
Balor paces back to the front, scanning the rows with a predatory gleam. He hits the start button at each station, then writes winners’ names on the chalkboard. Each grating squeal of chalk sets my nerves on edge. The air seems thick, as though we’re all bracing for a storm that’s just over the horizon.
After forty-five agonizing minutes, nearly everyone has been eliminated. Vaughn’s match ends disastrously, forcing him to skulk to the sidelines. Only Mina and Jax remain now, locked in a final face-off.
“The battle we’ve all been waiting for…” Balor declares, slamming his thumb onto the start button. The screens flare with new data, and our classmates scoot forward in their seats, craning their necks to watch.
The outcome is brutal. Mina’s mixed-species contingent ruthlessly demolishes the firedrake nest in fewer than twenty moves. I edge closer, heartbeat hammering in my ears. Something in Balor’s stance makes it clear this scenario was deliberate. He’s sending a message to Arista’s group, the one that typically aligns with Jax and Abaddon’s green dragons. The readout confirms my suspicions: Mina’s forces contain members from all our allied shifts.
Jax’s shoulders tense with anger and disbelief. He shoots Mina a glare loaded with venom, but she only tilts her head, observing him with that same eerie calm. The hush that follows is so complete, I can hear my pulse pounding. In this grim academy, triumph is currency—and right now, Mina holds the winning hand with unnerving ease.
CHAPTER 35
Mina
