Page 47 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
Balor: I’m not sure. Basilisks can’t sense their mates until they hit eighteen for males and I think twenty for females.
Klauth: Dragons, the males can tell as young as five. Females, I believe its after they have their first heat cycle.
Thauglor: Females will be drawn to their “mate” but not know that he is her mate until after her first fertile period.
Mina: Why are we worried about that? Did something happen? Do I need to come home? Who am I torching?
I stare at Mina’s message and feel the tightness through the bond from her.
Ziggy: Nothing happened. Just trying to understand how things work with dragons. With all the flights hatchlings in one place, they may over time find their mates. I wanted to know what to watch for.
Mina: …
Abraxis: Good looking out. The oldest hatchling downstairs I believe is three so we have two years before it may be a concern.
Leander: Why would it be a concern? I would be happy if my child found their mate.
Callan: With as rare as mates are for the general population, I would be happy if my child found their mate.
Balor: Are you abolishing the dragon mate first rule?
I watch the hatchlings yawning as they head to the furs in the corner of the playroom. They curl up together with Lily in the middle. She stretches her wings over my twins and they fall asleep.
Klauth: It’s on the list. We are still fighting with clans about the betrothal system. Once that’s handled, that rule is the next to go.
Ziggy: Sends a short video of the way the babies are curled up together, taking their nap.
Multiple messages arrive oohs and ahh’s fill the screen. I set my phone down and shift. I stretch my feline body out before curling up around the hatchlings. My tentacle closest to them lays over their bodies to alert me to any movement.
A nap sounds divine.
CHAPTER 32
Mina
It’s been almosta month since my cousins arrived, and Ziggy’s pride has been phasing in and out of the mages’ compound. They’ve stolen several tomes with hundreds of species recorded in them, the ancient leather bindings cracking softly beneath my fingers, releasing the musty scent of old paper and faded ink. Those sick bastards have been keeping track of how many dragons they’ve killed yearly, their meticulous handwriting a cold testament to their methodical slaughter.
I flip through the pages of one of the tomes as my babies sleep around me, their tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm, the soft whisper of their breath a comforting counterpoint to the horror in my hands. Tomorrow when we go back to class, Klauth and Thauglor are calling an assembly. We are going to warn the dragons of what we’ve discovered. The names of the dead echo in my mind as I thumb through the pages, each one sending a chill down my spine, the paper rough against my fingertips. The mages apparently pull a tooth from the dragon after they kill it to get an accurate age to record, and I run my tongue along my own teeth reflexively, the sharp edges pressing against the soft flesh.
Shaking my head, I look at my kittens. They are armored like the dragons in the family but are sleek and agile like their father, their scaled bodies gleaming under their fur in the low lamplight.
“Hey,” Balor says softly before he sits behind me, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. Carefully, he lifts me up and sets me on his lap, his body radiating heat that seeps into my bones, chasing away the icy dread that had settled there.
“Hey,” I sigh softly as I turn my head to rest on his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and pine. Carefully, I set the tome aside, the heavy thump as it hits the table punctuating my surrender to exhaustion, and close my eyes, letting my mate hold me, his heartbeat strong and steady against my back.
“How bad is it?” he whispers close to my ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs at my temple.
“Terrible, there are thousands of dragons that have been killed over the years.” I sigh and open the book to where my mother’s flight is listed, the pages rough against my palm. According to the book, there should be eight iron dragons left, not the five my cousins know about. The black ink seems to writhe on the yellowed page, names blurring together in my vision. “What are the odds of one of the missing being my mom and possibly two more females?” I lift my head and look into his eyes, searching for hope in their amber depths.
Balor takes the book from me and stares at the page we’re on, his fingers tracing the lines of text as though he could extract more meaning through touch. “Anything is possible. Maybe it’s as easy as unrecorded deaths?” He presses his lips to my temple, the contact sending warmth radiating through my skull. He flips the pages back and forth, the soft rustle filling the silence between us. “Looks like it’s one male and one female missing.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he says it, the words hanging heavy in the air like smoke.
I stare at the pages in front of me. All the names of my mother’s flight. So many souls lost to the mages. My fingers trace over the lines of names, the ink slightly raised against the paper. Each line, another relative extinguished too soon. My eyes drift to my babies, their scales and fur catching the light with every breath, and I promise myself I will eliminate the mage threat. “I wonder what they were like?” The words fall from my lips as I feel a tear run down my cheek, hot and salty as it reaches the corner of my mouth.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like growing up, not knowing both sides of your heritage.” He runs his fingers through my hair, the gentle tug against my scalp oddly comforting, and kisses my shoulder, his lips warm through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“I was too busy training to even notice until I got older.” I close the book and set it off to the side, the leather binding making a soft thud against the wooden table, watching the little ones wake up, their eyes opening to reveal pupils that contract in the light. “Time to take them downstairs to play with the others.” I slide off his lap, losing his warmth immediate and jarring, and start walking, knowing my babies will follow me, their tiny claws clicking against the hardwood floor.
As we move through the house, Abraxis catches up with us, the scent of wind and open sky clinging to him like a second skin. “Bringing them down?” He arches a brow, looking at me then our daughter. She’s two months old now, and she’s been gliding more lately, her wings unfurling with a soft whispering sound when she thinks no one is watching.
