Page 49 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
Vaughn
This hasto be the most Monday to ever Monday in the history of the known universe. First, the strap to my backpack breaks, the worn leather finally giving way with a disheartening snap that sends my books tumbling across the concrete with a series of dull thuds. Then I trip in the cafeteria and wear half of my breakfast, the hot oatmeal splattering against my chest, seeping through my shirt to cling to my skin like a burning second layer. The smell of cinnamon and brown sugar now permeates my clothes, making my stomach growl in protest at the meal I lost. Thankfully, Mina didn’t witness that disaster; her scent of iron and wildflowers is noticeably absent from the crowded space.
Now, instead of going to third period, we get herded into the auditorium for an announcement, the press of bodies around me raising the temperature by several degrees. The buzz of nervous conversation vibrates in my chest as we shuffle through the double doors, our footsteps creating a percussive symphony against the polished floor.
As the student body is being directed to the auditorium, I see the rest of my nest minus Ziggy. Their familiar forms stand out in the crowd—Abraxis’s tall frame and proud posture, Balor’s careful watchfulness, and Callan’s graceful movements. I approach Abraxis and arch a brow in question, inhaling his distinctive scent of night air and cedar.
“We’re sharing with the campus about the mages hunting dragons. Also, we found what they are doing to other species,” Abraxis says as he looks around, his voice dropping to a whisper that I feel more than hear. The warmth of his hand presses against my lower back before guiding me into the auditorium, the touch both reassuring and possessive.
Down on the stage stands Mina in a gown and her diadem, the silver circlet catching the harsh stage lights and throwing prismatic reflections across the darkened room. Klauth with his crown on and suit exudes ancient power, the air around him seeming to shimmer with energy. Thauglor is apparently on Mina duty, his massive form a dark shadow behind her slender silhouette, his eyes scanning the crowd with predatory focus.
Klauth steps forward and raises his hands. His dragon’s presence fills the space—a pressure against my skin like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks—and the room grows quiet, the sudden absence of sound almost painful in its intensity. “We have a lot to cover, and I don’t wish to hold everyone here all day to do it,” his voice booms through the room, reverberating in my chest cavity.
“My team and I have uncovered a plot by the mages to drive the majority of our species to extinction.” The minute the words leave his lips, panic sweeps through the room like wildfire, the scent of fear—acrid and sharp—filling the air as students shift restlessly in their seats. The rustle of clothing and nervous tapping of feet creating a crescendo of anxiety.
I watch Mina step forward and tilt her head, the movement fluid and graceful. Her eyes take on their golden glow, transforming from their usual soft gold to molten metal, luminous even from this distance. Ican feel more than hear her dragon’s rumble, a subsonic vibration that travels through the floor and up my legs, settling in my core. It’s a soothing feeling, as if her dragon is offering every being here safety, the tension in my shoulders easing despite the gravity of the situation.
She opens her arms, her palms facing out as she soothes the masses, the silk of her gown whispering with the movement. “As the dominant dragoness of the continent, I can soothe or strike fear. I lived in fear of my father most of my life. I will not let others know the pain or fear I did,” Mina says before looking back to Klauth, her voice clear and strong, cutting through the remaining murmurs like a blade.
Callan steps onto the stage carrying four thick tomes, the ancient leather bindings creaking audibly with each careful step he takes. The musty scent of old paper and faded ink wafts through the air, a tangible reminder of ages past.
“Within these books are the names of the dragons, gargoyles, phoenixes, nightmares, and other species that the mages have killed. They have been weakening all the species for over a thousand years,” Klauth says and pauses, watching the crowd, his gaze so intense I feel it like a physical touch when it passes over me. Whispers move through the student body, a rustling sound like wind through dry leaves.
“What can we do?” A student says from somewhere close to the stage, their voice cracking with fear.
“Be alert. Watch for mages. Be wary of anyone without a beast in their chest. The mages’ magic is unnatural; it’s stolen from mythics like dragons, phoenixes, and manticore.” Callan returns to the stage with a slender book this time, its binding darker, almost black in the harsh lighting. Klauth holds the book up, and I can feel his anger here—a wave of heat that prickles along my skin, raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the crowded room.
“They drove the unicorns to extinction for their horns to make wands. In this book are the names of the herds they systematically slaughtered over the millennium.” The sound of the tome hitting the lectern echoes in the room like an explosion, making me flinch involuntarily.
Whispers sweep through the auditorium again, the soft tapping of fingers on phone screens adding a rhythmic undercurrent. I watch other students texting their families, the blue glow of screens illuminating worried faces in the dimmed light. The response is the same: Thauglor had already made the parents aware of the situation, the revelation somehow making the air in the room even heavier, harder to breathe.
“Each species is slowly being weakened over time,” Klauth says as he leans on the lectern, the wood creaking slightly beneath his weight. “Most species are not being allowed to reach full maturity before being killed off.” He pauses, looking between the species gathered, his gaze lingering on each group long enough to make them shift uncomfortably. “There are no short-lived species on this campus. Your elders should be in the hundreds of years old, if not thousands.”
“Our oldest elder is almost a hundred,” a female naga says, glancing at the rest of her nest mates briefly, the scales on her arms catching the light as she gestures, flashing like smoky quartz, the scales on her arms catching the light as she gestures, flashing like smoky quartz.
“Naga live to over five hundred. The fact your elder is almost a hundred only proves what I’m saying,” Klauth says as he looks at the others, his words falling like stones in still water. “We need to stand as one and protect each other. Thauglor and I are the oldest living dragons on the continent. The next oldest is approaching a hundred and twenty years old. Dragons don’t reach full maturity until their two-hundredth birthday.” All the dragons in the room start talking at once, and you can feel the fear, taste it metallic on your tongue like blood.
I look up at Abraxis; the movement making my neck ache after staring so intently at the stage. “How do you think it’s going?”
He glances down at me briefly, his eyes reflecting the stage lights, turning them into miniature suns. “Better than we expected. I don’t know if it’s Mina keeping the masses calm or they are thinking with level heads or not.”
“I think it’s Mina,” I say with a smile, watching my mate on the stage with the ancients. My chest swells with pride seeing her there, powerful and compassionate, her presence a balm on the raw nerves of everyone in the room.
“We heard Risedale is no longer training Shadowblades,” a male dragon two rows from the stage says, his voice carrying an edge of panic. “Who’s going to keep us safe?”
Mina looks over at Klauth, and he nods at her, the subtle exchange speaking volumes about their trust in each other. She steps forward, the hem of her gown whispering against the stage floor.
“What was once known as Risedale no longer trains Shadowblades,” she says, her voice softer now but somehow more commanding, reaching every corner of the vast room. Her gaze sweeps out over the crowd, the golden glow intensifying. “The nest is now known as Sovereign. I have taken it over, and I was the last Shadowblade trained by my father’s hand.” Her eyes lock on the male before her, pinning him with her stare until he lowers his gaze submissively. “We...” She motions to Thauglor and Klauth, the movement causing her bracelets to jingle softly. “Are taking the steps to protect the continent. Females are under our protection. Modified mage cages are outlawed. The betrothal system is no longer being used.” She looks over at Klauth and smiles at him, the expression transforming her face from regal to radiant. “We are proposing to eliminate the ‘dragon first in the nest’ as a requirement. Too many innocent mates have died because of that rule.”
The hall falls as silent as a grave, the absence of sound so complete I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears as students look at each other, shock and hope warring on their faces.
“Are our parents aware?” A female asks from the front row, her voice trembling like a plucked string.
“Yes, they are. I sent out the missives myself,” Thauglor says as he steps up beside Mina, his deep voice resonating through the floor beneath my feet.
“Do you think students have been hiding they have a mate outside of taking a dragon first?” I glance up at Abraxis, the question barely audible even to my own ears.
“Absolutely.” He motions to the female that just spoke. She jumps up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and runs over to a male gryphon, her footsteps a frantic staccato. She dives into his arms, their bodies colliding with enough force that I hear the breath leave him in a soft whoosh. After she moves to approach her mate, others do the same, the rustle of clothing and murmured endearments creating a symphony of reunion around us. There are at least two dozen pairs that came out, the scent of their joy—sweet and heady—mingling with the lingering fear in the air. “My gut tells me there are more, but they are afraid of their parents,” Abraxis says as he looks around the auditorium, his eyes narrowing as he scans the crowd.
